


Cynosure

by Ruenis



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (Past) Attempted Suicide, (Past) Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15638250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruenis/pseuds/Ruenis
Summary: You don't die when your heart stops beating.





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seru/gifts).



Inaho is quiet as he stands outside of the music room, one hand on the door and ready to slide it open – he would, if it were not for the music coming from the inside, a soft, small string of notes played on what he _thinks_ might be a violin. It is hard to tell; he has no real interest in music and the instruments used in making it, though he occasionally gets recommendations of what to listen to from Calm and Nina. Truthfully, he rarely gets around to listening to anything; more often than not, he forgets.

The music sounds sort of beautiful. Opening the door would almost surely stop the sound. Whomever is inside will be surprised, and cease playing, but.. Inko asked him to pick up the keyboard as the student council’s extra hand, and it is getting rather late.

Slowly sliding the door open, Inaho murmurs a soft ‘excuse me’, and is about to bow his head when he realises the person inside is the beautiful foreigner with scars on his wrist that people have been talking about.

What had his name been? Students mentioned it briefly in passing, but they have mostly been referring to the new foreigner as ‘Shiro’.

There is visible surprise on ‘Shiro’s’ features, and he slowly lowers his violin. One of his cheeks and part of his chin are flushed a light pink, probably from having to cradle the instrument against his face. “Can I.. help you?” he questions, and Inaho tries not to let his dark eyes linger over the scars adorning the other’s wrists. They are visible amongst the bracelets that seem to be there in an attempt to hide the scars. “You aren’t a member of the music club..” ‘Shiro’ murmurs, and Inaho wonders how quick the decision in allowing him to join was. Talented foreigners are rare to come by.

“I’m just here to pick up the keyboard for the student council,” Inaho assures him, “You can keep playing. I’ll be quiet.”

‘Shiro’ only stares at him for a short moment before going back to doing just that, resuming his playing as if there had been no interruption. Music fills the room once more; it is softer, prettier without the door acting as a hard barrier against the sound. The blond's eyes slowly shut, and the tune seeps into another; it is clear that he is not at all intimidated by another student in the room.

Inaho cannot help but stare, gaze slipping to ‘Shiro’s’ collar. Their high school does not have any real way of telling students apart from which year they are in, but.. Judging from how ‘Shiro’ had addressed him and the fact that he has not seen the blond in the corridor generally used by first years.. it seems safe to say that he is older. There are multiple scars along both of his wrists, some deep, some superficial.. some look as if they are still healing, with medicinal cream spread over them, but no bandages.

_I want to ask him why._

Shoving the thought away, Inaho makes his way to the corner of the room, careful not to bump anything. It would be rude to interrupt again, especially if ‘Shiro’ is indeed an upperclassman. He grabs the keyboard’s case and holds it against his chest, glancing around to ensure that its wire is not sitting around somewhere; there are none around, and that hopefully means it is inside the case. He is about to leave when the soft lull of music stops.

“What’s your name?”

Inaho turns back around and finds that ‘Shiro’s’ teal eyes are open. They are only the faintest bit warm, devoid of the usual cheer that people seem to have in them. Instead, they look sad and empty, and Inaho knows that people generally do not look like that. “Kaizuka. Kaizuka Inaho,” he offers quietly, and the blond’s eyes soften. There is a sad pain in them despite the visible softness, a painfully familiar sort of pain.

_I don't.. like.._

Inaho looks away.

“I'm Slaine Troyard,” Slaine introduces himself, resting his cheek once again on his violin, bow at the ready. “It's nice to meet you, Kaizuka,” he says, and a small, sad smile pulls at his lips, “Please tell the student council that Hanada needs that returned before the end of the day.”

Inaho remains quiet as Slaine’s eyes slip shut again, masking the saddened teal, and those scars on his wrist become a little more visible as Slaine adjusts his hands and arms, fingers resting on the violin’s strings. The posture is elegant. Wildly unfamiliar, but elegant, and like this, he seems the faintest bit at ease, removed from whatever it is that plagues him.

“Oh, and.. please tell Amifumi that I need a tour of the rest of the school, later. I’m free whenever she is,” Slaine continues, and his voice comes out just as soft as the notes he strums, slow again, easing into another gentle, melancholic tune, “Can you do that for me?”

“.. I’ll.. let her know,” Inaho responds, frowning at the way that his heart starts to ache and tug. There is no reason he should feel this way, not when – _Not when.. not when I.. have no reason to feel that way, anymore.._

It hurts.

“.. please excuse me,” he whispers, quickly letting himself out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

_It hurts._

Breathing out, he stares at the floor, trying to remember why that pain in Slaine’s eyes seems so familiar, why it reminds him of –

“Oh,” he whispers, smiling painfully to himself. _I remember why,_ he realises, grip loosening only slightly on the keyboard, its case feels almost hollow, now, as hollow as his heart used to be, _He reminds me of how I used to be at the orphanage._

* * *

 

“.. probably keep my arms covered up, huh? I could probably use makeup, but it would come off in the summer, since it gets so hot and it rains..”

Stopping short of walking past the student council’s room, Inaho finds himself surprised to hear Slaine’s vaguely familiar voice coming from the open door. Taking a few steps backward, he tries to keep himself as quiet as he can, and presses his back to the wall.

Curiosity has gotten the better of him. The foreigner with the scars on his wrists is terribly intriguing, though Inaho does not have the faintest idea of how to go about talking to him, especially considering how sad and pained he had seemed inside. They do not seem to have anything in common, and Slaine is older..

_I wouldn’t know what to say to him._

“You’ll be given permission to wear the winter uniform as needed,” Inaho hears Inko say, her voice soft, warm. Something shuffles. Paper, probably. “No one should say anything to you if you want to wear the summer one, it’s still really hot outside.. It’s not often that someone.. erm..”

Slaine shifts. Inaho hears his feet against the floor, gently scraping the wood. “I understand. I’ll wear the winter uniform if the other students are..”

Inaho hears him sigh softly.

“I'm not setting a very good example as a foreign upperclassman, am I?”

Slaine laughs at his own comment. It is a sad sound. Those painful feelings swirling around in his head hit far too close to home; they are a dangerous reminder of Inaho’s own childhood, something he loathes to recall.

“No, you're..” Inko sighs, and Inaho hears her get up from her desk. The chair scrapes against the floor, and footsteps follow. “You're doing fine, Slaine. You'll make friends with the other students just fine. Just.. let me know if you have any issues with any of the teachers or students and they'll be resolved immediately. And remember to bring your parents in for a meeting, okay?”

“Okay,” Slaine agrees. Inaho hears him exhale softly; it sounds more relaxed. “One more question, Amifumi..”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you mind helping me home, again?”

Inaho finds himself only slightly surprised.

As good as his Japanese is, and as polite and natural as his manners come, Slaine is, in the end, a foreigner; being here for a week is nowhere near enough time to get used to transportation.

Inko laughs. It is soft and sheepish, and Inaho can imagine his childhood friend shaking her head. “I'm busy with student council, but I can have one of my friends help you,” she says, apologetic, “Would that be okay?”

“Yes. I'm sorry for imposing, I..”

“It's fine, Slaine. It's the student council's job to help new transfers however possible,” she insists, and Inaho knows that she will not back down. “I have a few friends attending the middle school nearby.. but if they aren't free, I'll have someone from the high school help you get home.”

“In Russia, our middle school ran from years five to nine. Japan's is..?”

“Seven to nine. My friends will be joining us next year as first year high schoolers,” Inko says, and Inaho immediately starts walking away upon hearing her footsteps draw nearer; he does not want to get caught eavesdropping on the new foreigner’s business. There is no telling how upset Slaine might become, how sad those thoughts make him.

“.. schools don't have a twelfth year. It does feel a little weird that I'll technically be attending for an extra year, I would've graduated this year..” Slaine says, voice softer as Inaho rounds the corner.

“Really? I guess you'll be getting an extra year’s worth of preparing for university, then,” Inko teases, and it is light. Slaine draws in a breath, but does not laugh; he must be holding back. “You can go back to club activities for now. I'll have someone wait at the front gate for you, alright?”

“Y.. yes. Thank you, Amifumi.”

 

 

Inaho is silent as he waits at the school gate, messing with his cellphone. Most of the students have gone home already, with the rare exceptions of those few who choose to either study or spend more time in their clubs, as well as the student council; as the student council’s ‘extra help’.. he sometimes stays as long as Inko does, assisting with any tasks that cannot be completed in time by the other members.

Apparently, Nina and Calm’s class at the middle school are working on and upcoming play, something their class has been wildly excited about since writing a script for it last year. Nina is busy with sewing costumes, and Calm is helping with the creation of small set pieces. Inko insisted that they would have to go and see their friends during their cultural festival, a trip Inaho intends to make.

“Oh..”

Looking up from his cellphone upon hearing the soft gasp, Inaho catches Slaine's teal eyes.

This time, Slaine's eyes are not filled with that painful sadness from before, but they are still significantly different compared to how most of their other peers look. Slaine is dressed in the long sleeved uniform they are supposed to wear around this time, sleeves rolled up and cuffed just as they had been yesterday. It seems the slight chill in the air does not bother him at all.

Slaine’s cheek flush and he shifts before the brunet, quickly glancing around the school gate. “You’re.. my.. escort, for today..? Amifumi’s friend..?” he asks, gripping his violin case a little tighter.

Inaho nods, eyes lingering on Slaine’s face. “Is that alright?”

“Yes! Yes, that's fine, it's just..” Slaine trails off, obviously not having expected to be escorted home by the brunet.

Gaze slipping to Slaine’s case, Inaho’s dark eyes linger over the flowery designs that paint its white plastic. The edges and lining are a light shade of yellow, and it looks quite different compared to the usual dark ones most students use. “That suits you,” he mumbles, raising his head again to meet Slaine's eyes.

“What?” Slaine asks him, cheeks flushing further.

_He didn’t hear me._

“You played nicely,” Inaho amends.

That seems to calm him down and push whatever Slaine _thinks_ he may have heard from his head. Smiling, the Slaine relaxes before the brunet. It is a real smile this time, much, _much_ warmer than the one from before. “ _Just_ nicely?” he asks, and it is teasing, soft, “I've been practising for years, you know.”

Inaho glances back down toward the case.

It is obvious that Slaine has practised; instruments are reportedly difficult to play, much less play them with any hint of emotion and care that Slaine had put forth.

“Will you play for me, again? As payment for escorting you home?” he questions, and Slaine looks surprised again for a moment before nodding.

This time, Slaine’s gaze slips. “I.. didn’t think you liked it,” he whispers, grip tightening on his violin case. Holding the case closer to himself, he remains staring at the sidewalk, visibly hesitant, now. “You looked.. upset, while I was playing..” he murmurs.

“.. I’m sorry,” Inaho apologises. It had not even occurred to him that he might have looked upset at the time, or that Slaine had even noticed. “It.. it wasn’t because of you,” he says, slow, remembering to be careful with his words, put a bit more thought into them, “I remembered something that.. I’d.. rather forget.”

A smile pulls at Slaine’s lips, this one pained, sheepish this time.

_I shouldn't have asked him to do that._

“There.. are many things I’d.. rather forget, too.”

 

 

Inaho cannot help but stare at Slaine’s wrists as they sit together on the bus.

Now that they are closer like this, the scars are far more detailed. Most of the scars are far darker than his pale skin, deeper, and they look as if they had hurt, _greatly_. Some of them cross over others, broke the skin again; it looks like they have been mended and cut open again and again –

Freezing up when Slaine looks away from the window, he remains silent as the blond’s teal eyes flicker over his face and then slip to his own wrists.

Pain flickers in those teal eyes. Slaine presses them firm to his violin case, pressing his palms flat against his. “You’re all so curious,” he says softly, managing a small, pained smile, “Is it really that unusual to see? In high school?”

Inaho shakes his head.

It is not. It is painfully common, though most students use makeup, or wear cloth bracelets. That pained look in his eyes is far too painful to meet for too long. Slaine makes a small effort to be happy, but it does not hide the fact that he is slowly breaking.

It is slow.

It is painful.

It is terribly apparent, obvious that Slaine wears his heart and feelings on his sleeve.

“Troya–..” Inaho starts to say.

“Slaine,” the blond cuts him off, “Please.. call me Slaine.”

The use of his last name visibly bothers him; Inaho remembers that Inko has been calling him by his first name. Even in the text she had sent him, she had used his given name rather than his last.

“.. Slaine,” Inaho amends softly, and the other does not meet his eyes again, “Can.. I ask why?”

It is silent again for a moment.

The passing houses cease to blur together as the bus comes to slow stop, separating green and white and blue. The two of them remain seated, still, still until Slaine looks back out the window.

“.. no,” Slaine murmurs. Smiling again, he looks back out the window as the passing houses and lots cease to blur; green and blue and white separate and come to a standstill as the bus comes to a stop.

They remain seated.

“Ask me again when we're friends,” he says softly.

 

 

“Thank you for helping me home,” Slaine says softly, bowing his head politely, “I’m sorry for making you go out of your way.”

“It’s fine,” Inaho murmurs, genuinely unbothered; Inko has asked him to do favours on her behalf for years now, and it is only natural that he help out when he does not have much to do like the other students. None of the clubs are interesting enough, and he often ends up cooking meals for him and Yuki when she does not order takeout. That, and.. Slaine is interesting. Sad, and painful to think about, but an interesting person. “I live close by,” he adds, and he gestures toward the left, “You can come over in the morning and I’ll walk you to and from school.”

Since he has not actually seen Slaine walking to school, he assumes the blond must get there some other way in the morning, or he leaves at a later time.

“Y.. you will?” Slaine asks, surprise in his eyes, “Really?”

“I don’t see why not,” Inaho says, nodding, “How do you usually get to school?”

“My father drops me off before going to work,” Slaine answers, and Inaho finds himself relieved by the _normal_ admission. Shifting, he sets his violin case down and goes through his pockets, presumably looking for a key. “Do you.. still want me to play for you..?” he asks quietly, pulling a small key out from one of his pockets after a moment, “My father and mother aren’t home, if you’re worried about introducing yourself..”

Inaho hesitates but nods again; he _had_ asked for recompanse after all, and seeing as Slaine is still offering.. It must mean he is calm and well enough to at least play something. “Thank you,” he says, following after the other once Slaine picks up the case again, taking care not to bump into him. “Your home looks similar to mine,” he comments, shutting the door behind himself.

It is newer. The walls are a whitish blue, newly painted, fresh, and the smell still lingers in the air. They look dry enough, at least, and the floor is the same darkly coloured wood as the planks in Inaho’s own home. It is warm inside, a little warmer compared to the slight chill of the outside.

When Slaine removes his shoes, Inaho follows suit, and sets them down to the side of the entryway and against the wall. There is a small chest of drawers here, its top only holding a small potted plant until Slaine places the key beside the flowers. “Please let me know if you want water or anything..” he says, picking up his violin case again, carrying it down the hall with him.

Inaho follows after him, their footsteps almost silent, socks masking the sounds. The halls still smell slightly of paint, but there are photos on it already, dozens of them, and –

“.. Slaine?” he calls, and the blond turns to face him, stopping in the hall, “Are you adopted?”

Slaine follows Inaho’s gaze to one of the photos on the wall.

There is a beautiful woman with dark, dark black hair and bluish-grey eyes standing beside an older man with brownish-red hair and pale violet eyes, and between them, fair haired, pale Slaine.

“Yes,” he says with a smile, another of those warm ones, and when Inaho looks toward him, he sees the happiness on his features, the true, genuine happiness. “That’s Saazbaum and Orlane.. My full name is actually Slaine Saazbaum-Troyard.. but that’s a mouthful, isn’t it?” he asks, smile turning sheepish. Walking back toward the brunet, he looks more closely at the photo, features softening further.

_He’s happy with his family, so.. they probably aren’t the reason he’s.._

Inaho smiles slightly as he watches the other. “They look kind,” he murmurs, glancing between Slaine and the photo – it looks recent, and quickly glancing over the other ones, it seems Slaine was either adopted around twelve or thirteen, or they simply do not have older photos. “Do they spoil you?” he asks, curious; Inko’s parents sometimes spoiled him and Yuki, still do at times, and Yuki is a firm believer in spoiling Inaho herself whenever she is able.

Slaine flushes, taken off-guard by the question. “Wh.. what?” he questions, frowning now, “Do I.. do I _seem_ spoiled? Father’s kind of strict, but mother lets me do whatever I..”

Inaho remains quiet as the other slowly trails off, flush deepening a shade further upon realisation that he just might be.

Pulling away from the photo, Slaine continues down the hall, the tips of his ears burning a warm red. “I.. don't think that I'm..”

Inaho can barely hear Slaine’s mumbles, they are far too soft with the air conditioner humming throughout the house. “It's okay if you are. Parents should spoil children,” he offers, and Slaine glances at him again, stopping in front of a wooden door. Remaining quiet as Slaine opens the door, he continues to follow after him and looks around the room. It is plain, and there are still moving boxes in the corner. A few of them are opened, but most of them are still taped shut and labelled.

Slaine is still frowning at him when he sits himself down on his bed, setting his school bag down on the floor and his violin case in his lap. “Are _you_ spoiled, Kaizuka?” he asks, resting his hands on the case, and he seems much more at ease now.

“Sometimes,” Inaho admits. “How long have you been in Japan?”

“Ah, um.. a week and a half,” Slaine supplies, glancing behind Inaho at the boxes, “We're.. slow at unpacking.”

 _I see that,_ Inaho muses, figuring that the family should be finished in a month or so, once the beginning of the year has settled down. There are a few plants around the room, bigger ones, and there is a small cartoon of cracked eggs at the windowsill, filled with dirt and herbs that smell like mint. “You like plants?”

“The smell is calming,” Slaine murmurs, nodding, “It helps with.. Ah..” Trailing off again, pain flickers across his features.

Inaho glances down towards Slaine's wrists, and the blond immediately presses his hands further against his case, gaze slipping. “Sorry,” he whispers, looking away, “I'll try not to stare.”

“Thank you, um.. You.. you can go ahead and sit down,” Slaine murmurs, gesturing to the chair at his desk, “I'll find a song to play for you..”

 

 

 _Why do musicians close their eyes?_ Inaho wonders as he listens to Slaine play his violin, trying to be as quiet as he possibly can. It is difficult to remain both quiet _and_ stoic; he catches Slaine opening his teal eyes between parts, just long enough to glance at the brunet. Despite the way the music makes his heart ache, he wants to be hard to read as he usually is, not wanting to look upset again and give off the wrong idea.

The music.. sounds sad. Melancholic. Beautiful and pleasant and slow, but it..

Slaine has the violin cradled against his cheek again, posture perfectly straight – playing the violin seems rather strenuous on the arms, and Inaho realises why some performers start to sweat on stage. Playing so many songs, all in a row.. must be quite tiresome. Still, the blond makes it seem almost effortless, easy, but it is clear that all his years of hard work and practise have played their part in this façade.

Inaho is unsure of how long Slaine plays. It seems like quite a long time – the music blends together easily, and he does not think whatever Slaine is playing is more than one song. It does not feel like it. Or sound like it. Perhaps he is playing the same chorus, or a refrain, or a set of notes over and over, or perhaps the song is long, or..

The music stops, again.

Slaine opens his eyes, and Inaho freezes up again, caught off-guard.

Inaho remains still for a few moments more before he starts to clap quietly, unsure of what to do until the other smiles at him, and his hands cease to move.

“You’re.. really sensitive, aren’t you, Kaizuka?” Slaine asks him quietly, reaching over behind him and grabbing a tissue. Cradling the violin in his arm, he holds it out, still smiling gently, “Did you really like my playing that much? You don’t have to cry every time you hear music.”

It is supposed to be teasing. Inaho finds himself accepting the tissue, gripping it tightly in his fist; Slaine’s words are supposed to be teasing, and he does not seem especially pained anymore, but..

“You.. play nicely,” he whispers, repeating what he had said before. That causes Slaine to soften further, a warm gentleness in his eyes. “I.. don’t usually listen to musical performances,” he adds quietly, hoping that the praise does not come off as insincere.

“.. thank you, Kaizuka,” Slaine murmurs, setting the instrument back in its case, taking care to place the violin and bow carefully, gently. “Truly, I.. I’m glad you..”

Inaho listens as Slaine trails off again, unable to finish those thoughts in his head. The worlds are sincere, genuine.

Looking away as he wipes at his eyes, Slaine gestures for Inaho to get up, an embarrassed, sheepish smile on his lips. “I’ll.. um.. walk you home, so..” The words come out awkward now, softer.

Inaho follows as Slaine leaves the bedroom, their footsteps still near silent against the wooden floors.

“Kaizuka.. Th.. thank you, for.. wanting to listen to..” Slaine glances at him when they reach the entryway where their shoes are, and the blond pulls them on clumsily.

Inaho nods, understanding even as the other looks away from him again, still embarrassed, still sheepish. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, pulling his own shoes on, “I’d.. like to listen to you play more.”

_Even if it makes my heart ache._

Slaine’s comment from before, the one from the bus – _‘Ask me again when we're friends’_.. it had been serious.

“Even though you'll cry?” Slaine asks, and it is teasing again, warm.

Inaho fights back the urge for an ill-thought retort. Obviously, he had not cried, but Slaine must have seen something in his face again; the tissue the blond had given him still remains crumbled in his fist. “.. even though I'll cry,” he murmurs, indulging his upperclassman.

“You can, um.. come and see me, after school, if you’re.. still going to walk me home..” Slaine murmurs, finally able to pull his shoes on, and the tips of his ears are burning.

They peek out from his fluffy hair, just as red as his cheeks, and Inaho realises that Slaine must not be used to interacting with people. Being here for only a week must mean that he has not made any real friends yet, or perhaps the other students are nervous around him, given..

_Given.._

“Anyway, ah.. I’ll walk you home,” Slaine says, absentmindedly reaching for the handle, “You said it was..”

Before he can open it himself, the door opens from the other side, and the two of them quickly take a few steps backward.

“F.. father. Welcome home,” Slaine stammers, face flushing further.

Inaho is silent as Saazbaum glances between the two of them, visible surprise on his features. Looking away from him, he glances toward the wall again, dark eyes lingering over a few more photos. These ones look like they were taken outside a mansion, a giant one covered in glistening, white snow. _They look happy,_ he thinks again, glad for that.

Slaine gestures to the brunet, “Father, this is.. this is Kaizuka..” It comes out soft, slow, “He, um.. walked me home, and I.. played.. the..”

“The violin,” Inaho supplies, about to check his phone when he realises he has left his school bag, and thus his phone, in Slaine’s bedroom. “I’ll be right back,” he says, removing his shoes once more and excusing himself; he cannot leave without it, especially when Yuki will soon be texting him with what she wants for dinner.

“E-eh?” Slaine stammes, “Kaizuka, wh..”

Saazbaum remains quiet for a moment before quietly repeating, “Kaizuka?”

Nodding, Slaine shifts, rightfully embarrassed now that Inaho has gone and left him to deal with introductions on his own.

“Orlane will be happy you hear you've made a friend,” Saazbaum says, soft, “Especially one who's sister works for law enforcement.”

Slaine tenses up, face going pale. “Law.. enforcement..” he repeats weakly, relaxing just the slightest bit when Saazbaum pats his head. It feels familiar. Calming. “Kaizuka’s.. really nice..”

“All she talked about was him at the department today,” Saazbaum murmurs, “I'm sure you'll get along well with him. She said he's very quiet.” Pulling away, he continues down the hall and turns into the kitchen; Slaine hears the older man set his things and jacket on the table, hears something softly clatter against the wood. “Orlane will be home soon. Make sure you walk Kaizuka home,” he says.

“Of – of course!” Slaine calls back, breathing a sigh of relief when Inaho slowly returns, this time, his school bag on his shoulder. “You’re.. really kind of..” he starts to say, shaking his head and dropping it; Inaho only offers him a small smile as he pulls his shoes back on.

“Sorry,” Inaho says, “You distracted me.”

“Wh.. with my playing the violin? Really?” Slaine questions, flushing again, “It can’t have possibly been..” Stopping when Saazbaum leaves the kitchen with a mug in hand, the blond falls silent when his father gazes at the two of them, pale violet lingering over Inaho.

“Kaizuka,” the man says plainly, a small smile pulling at his lips, “It was nice meeting you.”

Inaho only nods at that, sure Slaine is regretting his decision to engage with him. Stepping outside when Slaine opens the door for the two of them, he bows his head, polite again.

“I’ll.. be walking him home, now..” Slaine says, gesturing down the street, “I’ll be back soon.”

 

 

It is cooler outside than it had been before. Their walk is nice, Slaine thinks. Brisk. The chill in the air is not too much in his silent opinion, but when he steals glances at Inaho, he can see that the brunet does not seem to handle the cold well. Inaho’s cheeks are flushed slightly and he is walking at a slower pace than he had been before.

Compared to Russia, this is not much at all, but..

“Eccentric,” Inaho suddenly says, coming to a stop. Glancing first at Slaine’s wrists, now covered up with his sleeves pulled down, scarred, pale skin hidden, and then the blond’s face, he clarifies, “That’s what the other students call me. ‘Eccentric’.”

“.. you.. are, a little bit, yes..” Slaine admits, quiet.

Another of those smiles rests on his lips, the bittersweet one.

“But so am I,” he murmurs, clasping his hands together, hiding his covered up wrists.

Inaho falls silent, unsure of what to say.

Interaction like this is not normal; _Slaine_ is not normal, compared to his peers and the others at school, Slaine is quite distinct and wholly unique. Never having had to deal with someone like this before.. he is at a loss. Yuki only said to be kinder. More patient. Gentler.

It is hard, doing any of those things; Inko, Nina and Calm often give him a free pass when it comes to themselves, understanding, but..

 _Not everyone is as understanding as they are,_ his thoughts tell him, though it seems Slaine is exactly the correct amount of patient and gentle and kind that Yuki had told him about. Slaine is probably understanding, too. _Too_ understanding.

“.. I want to disappear,” Slaine says quietly.

Not ‘wanted’. Not ‘tried’.

Slaine’s answer is a painful ‘want’ that seems impossible to change, that sadness in his teal eyes looking as if it is not going to disappear anytime soon.

Inaho understands, but does not, at the same time.

Slaine is in pain. Visible, agonising pain. Inaho understands the pain, but he does not understand ‘why’.

“I thought you said you’d tell me when we were friends,” Inaho says softly, unable to think of much else, unwilling to ask him another painful question.

People do not normally answer such questions with such painful honesty. They lie. They _always_ lie; even to friends, and especially to strangers.

“I did,” Slaine says, equally soft.

Smiling, he shifts on the sidewalk, and glances down it, toward the setting sun in the far, far distance. The skies are orange. Yellow. Pink, red, blending with fluffy, fluffy white that seems so far out of reach.

“I think we could be friends, Kaizuka,” he says, and when he looks back toward Inaho, his teal eyes are rimmed with tears.

The break is slow.

Painful.

Visible, with Slaine’s heart on his sleeve – _his wrists_ – for the world to see. There is only the smallest attempt at hiding it, covering it up.

“.. I think so, too,” Inaho returns after a moment, and this time, his heart is a rightful mess of memories that bubble and threaten to spill over even though he had forgotten them long, long ago.

Even though he had _tried_ to forget, long, long ago.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says, and it comes out far softer than he had intended, softer with his heart in his throat.

Slaine nods and bows his head, polite. Those tears remain in his eyes until he smiles again, until he takes a step backward. “Seven is perfectly fine.”

 

 

When Slaine returns to his room, he finds a small, _‘You played beautifully’_ note on his desk, along with a small orange.

* * *

 

Inaho shifts in his seat as he thumbs through Slaine's music sheets, unable to make much sense of any of them. They are covered in small notes, written in somewhat messy Japanese, with the musical score labelled in some parts. Glancing up at the blond, he stops on a page with a shorter score, noting the way it is stained in some places, the way the score is warped. “.. I don't think you're weak,” he says, and Slaine lifts his head, taken by surprise.

Slaine stares for a moment. Pressing his wrists firm to his thighs, he manages a soft, “What? Kaizuka?”

“I don't think you're weak,” Inaho repeats, quieter this time. Something flickers in Slaine’s eyes – pain, and then confusion, and then they narrow and fill with tears. _I shouldn’t have said that._

Slaine looks away from him, then, lightly digging his nails into his pants.

 _Better them than his palms,_ Inaho thinks, setting the folder down; Slaine was kind to try and show it to him, but he unfortunately cannot understand much at all. Perhaps if he had something like a piano to try and play the notes, it might make much sense.. The piano seems the easiest, and some of the keyboards around here are labelled. “Will you show me how to read music?” he asks, realising that it may not bode well to upset him. “On the piano. Can you play it?” he asks slowly, taking care to clarify.

“I.. I can show you how to read music with it, but the sheets are a little different..” Slaine says, slow, still shaken by the earlier comment. Grabbing the folder, he pulls a sheet out. “For violin.. there's only one stave, the lines the music is written in.. and for piano, there's usually at least two, but there can be more..”

Inaho watches as Slaine points at the sheet, toward the lines marked with what seems to be a fancy letter. Some of the notes are by themselves, and a few of them are connected; there are markings near them as well, small slopes, thick lines..

“.. piano is more complicated, because you play different tunes with both of your hands,” Slaine continues, in that same quiet tone, “I can find something easy for you to play. I think Hanada keeps some of her sheets for new members around, we have things for beginners.” He gets up and rifles around the piano, going through the folders until he settles on some piece, and gestures for Inaho to come over.

The two of them sit beside each other on the bench.

“Why did you say I'm not weak?” Slaine asks as he sets the sheet down into the small gap.

Inaho looks over the sheet. It does look much simpler in comparison to what Slaine plays, but it still seems odd to him. There are not as many connected notes, and they all seem to be close in height. The notes repeat halfway. Shifting beside the other, he murmurs, “I know what some people say about..”

Again, Slaine presses his wrists firm and flat against his legs. The scars are harder to see, like that – none of them loop around, none of them are long enough to do so. For the most part, the scars are short and they seem to have been done quickly.

That does not lessen the pain. It must have been searing.

“.. you're.. not weak, or a coward,” Inaho continues, and Slaine looks away from him this time, exhaling softly.

It is uneven. Shaky.

“I know I’m not,” Slaine whispers, “I know I..”

Inaho has heard what people say.

‘The easy way out’.

‘A coward’s death’.

‘Selfish’.

More hurtful words for people who have already been hurt and are still, in most cases, still hurting. It is unfair. _They_ are unfair.

The club room is silent. The air conditioner hums in the room, low.

It is always silent when Slaine is not playing, which does not happen often; Inaho has taken to coming to see him once the other members have left, and Slaine is more than happy to play the whole time until he is ready to go home.

Inaho remains silent for just a moment more before gesturing to the music sheet. “Tell me how to read this,” he says, and Slaine glances toward him, teal eyes hesitant.

It has been a few months.

The two of them have become somewhat more comfortable around one another. Inaho remains terribly blunt and makes little effort to hide his curiosity, asking Slaine questions.

Slaine has had to put up with odd, random gifts of scented lotions and creams, most of which do not affect his skin tone and do not hide the scars on his wrists. While he appreciates the strange acts of generosity, he has no idea why Inaho has been giving him such things.

Shifting in his seat, Slaine takes care not to bump into the brunet at his side. This piano is meant for either one or two people to play at the same time, but the bench is not that big. “This scale.. goes from ‘A’ to ‘G’,” he starts, soft, “The white spaces on the sheet are, in order bottom to up, ‘F’, ‘A’, ‘C’, and ‘E’. Any notes in the white spaces are one of those, and any notes on the actual line are the rest of the letters, plus another ‘F’. F is the only one repeated twice, and it goes back to A after G and repeats.”

Inaho nods at the explanation, able to follow along. Without an example, the words would sound odd, but they are easy to apply to the paper before him. Presumably, Slaine is dummying it down for him in the best way that he can.

“.. and this is A, on the piano. It's always between the last two black keys in the group of three. So you can go forward or backward and figure out which notes are which,” Slaine says, gently tapping said key. It is a white key, and his nail is quiet against it; he does not press it hard enough to play its corresponding note.

“Do the black keys have notes?”

“The one to the right of A is ‘A sharp’, and the one to the left is ‘A flat’, or ‘G sharp’,” Slaine says, “Beginners won't need those keys. You'll just be using the white ones.”

Pausing for a moment, he glances between Inaho and the music sheet. Slaine's gaze slips to the piano, lingering over the keys. He shifts again. “That – that wasn't difficult to understand, was it? I'm not the one.. usually explaining..”

“It's fine. I understand,” Inaho says as he shakes his head. Slaine's finger is still on the A key. “Play it for me,” he says, and Slaine raises his head, surprise in his eyes.

“Wh.. You asked me to..”

“I didn't say _I_ wanted to play,” Inaho says quietly, a small smile pulling on his lips. “I said I wanted you to show me how to read music. You wanted me to play,” he points out, and the blond's pale cheeks flush.

“That.. that isn't..”

“I'll play if you show me how like the foreigners overseas teach their partners how to play golf,” Inaho says, watching as Slaine flushes further, gaze slipping.

It is so easy to fluster him, and it is worth it each time. The more flustered he gets, the harder it is to come up with a proper retort; Inaho often has to buy him juice or milk from the vending machine to get his temperature back down.

“S.. seriously, Kaizuka..?” Slaine stammers, glancing again between Inaho and the piano. “.. fine, then,” he says quietly.

Inaho freezes up when the other takes his hand, not having expected Slaine to actually go along with one of his more ridiculous ‘demands’. Usually, Slaine just wants to play and talk, they have yet to hang out together like Inaho usually does with Inko and the others.

“You hold your hand like this,” Slaine says, forcing Inaho's hand into a small curve, “Your hand and fingers don't go flat on the keys. They're always cupped like this, and each finger is on a different key.”

It sort of looks like he could be holding onto something with the way his hand is, or like there could be something under his wrists. A cushion would be nice, for this position; it is seems mildly similar to typing on a laptop with a proper wrist cushion.

Inaho remains quiet as Slaine continues to adjust his hand and fingers, ensuring they are in the proper position.

The touch is gentle.

It seems like Slaine usually is, but Slaine does not seem to be as gentle with himself than he is with others. Inaho can only guess why that may be.

“.. like this. You keep your hand in this position as you play,” Slaine murmurs, repeating himself to ensure it sticks. Pulling away after a moment, he takes the gentleness with him.

It lingers, unfamiliar; it feels sort of odd, being handled so gently. Inaho is unused to it.

The air in the music room is light, easy. _Gentle_. Slaine lacks that sadness in his eyes, the pain; he seems far more at ease than he usually is, probably due to the amount of focus it takes to teach something completely new.

Inaho glances at the music sheet.

It does not look that difficult.

The first blank space is an F, which means the note on the line right above it is a G. The next note is A.. and after that..

Pressing the keys slowly, Inaho continuously glances between the piano and the sheet – the notes come out soft as they linger and hang in the air, staggered. They do not flow as they should, do not sound as effortless as Slaine makes them sound.

Slaine is silent beside him, listening.

The song is vaguely familiar. It is difficult to place. The sheet is not labelled; it is covered in tape and notes, written in several different kinds of handwriting.

It is easy enough to remember the tunes and feeling of the songs that Slaine plays for him, but the titles elude him; they are always in English or German or French, and some of them are difficult to catch.

“.. I could play the piano at your recitals,” Inaho offers, not at all serious, nor does he think Slaine needs any help at all with any background noise or additional instruments. Other people with actual musical knowledge may think differently, but..

Slaine’s breath catches beside him.

It is soft.

Bringing a hand to his lips, Slaine tries to hold in a laugh, hide a smile. The upperclassman shifts, and Inaho finds it difficult to remain focused and playing.

Beneath that sadness and pain, there is a genuine sort of warmth, a pure kindness. It is obvious that it is there; he really does seem to care for people, and is generally well liked by the other students, but..

They worry about him.

Inaho worries, too.

The laughter calms, and Slaine glances toward him. “You’d.. you’d _never_ be able to play at my recitals,” he tells the brunet, quiet, patient, between quiet stifles of amused laughter.

Inaho’s hand slips from the piano mid-key, the sound trailing off in the air. Slaine has not laughed before, not happily. “Why not?” he asks softly, genuinely curious.

Slaine shifts beside the brunet, still trying to hide that small smile. It is not working out that well; Inaho can see it pulling at his lips, warm. “You wouldn't enjoy it,” he says, removing the sheet from its stand and stuffing it back into the folder.

At a glance, the rest of the sheets are also covered in notes and tape, their titles hidden as well. Inaho is unsure of why; perhaps the music club uses it as homework of sorts, for their members.

“Why?” Inaho repeats; the tone Slaine is using indicates he does not mean it in an unkind way.

Slaine slides the folder back into the small indent on the piano, and he glances toward the brunet again, allowing himself that small, warm smile. “Because you wouldn’t be able to pay attention to my playing. You’d have to remember the notes, and pay attention to the keys..” he says, and Inaho frowns at that.

“You’re right,” the brunet murmurs, “I wouldn’t enjoy that.”

The two of them go quiet, again.

It is a nicer silence.

It lasts only a moment.

“Why did you tell me that I'm not weak?”

Inaho freezes up, heart catching in his throat.

Earlier, that had seemed like a very, _very_ wrong thing to say. It had come out without him thinking about it; it is not the kind of thing to tell someone as depressed as Slaine is.

“Because you aren't,” he says, hoping to keep this as simple as possible.

Slaine gazes at him, teal eyes still warm, that smile on his lips still patient. “I know I’m not,” he repeats to the brunet, softer this time.

Inaho shifts beside him. “.. it isn’t my place to sa–..”

“Kaizuka,” Slaine urges, calm, “Say it. Go ahead.”

It is not forced. It is not a façade.

The blond is truly interested in whatever it is that had made Inaho say what he had inadvertently blurted out earlier. No doubt this curiosity stems slightly from the fact that they have not known each other for all that long, have not become all too familiar and close with one another.

Inaho breathes in. It feels like a hard ball in his throat. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore,” he tells Slaine, and the honest comment tastes foul on his tongue.

It is not his place to meddle.

No matter Inaho’s feelings regarding the matter, it is _not_ his place.

“Really?”

Inaho raises his head to look at the other, seeing genuine surprise in Slaine’s eyes.

“You.. really don’t.. want me to..” Something flickers across Slaine’s features, and he looks away after a moment, cheeks flushing red. Biting on his lip, he digs his nails into his palms and then breathes out, forcing his hands flat on his lap. “Even though we only just met, you.. really..”

Words are lost on Inaho.

“.. you know that.. no matter how much you care for someone.. some illnesses won't ever go away.. don't you?” Slaine asks him.

Their eyes do not meet. Slaine's gaze remains squarely on the piano, unable to look away from it.

“I know,” Inaho assures him, “It takes the proper mediation and determination, and even then.. It's just..”

_I know what it feels like to hurt like that._

Slaine turns his hands over after a few heavy moments of silence, gently rubbing his thumb along one of the scars along his wrist. “.. thank you, Kaizuka,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“Believing in me. And supporting me,” Slaine murmurs, smiling.

It is genuine, this time. Warm. Sincere. A little bittersweet, but that cannot be helped, not yet.

“The lotion,” he says, and Inaho tenses up, “I didn't understand why you were giving me so much of it.. It's so that the smell calms me down, isn't it?”

They have mostly been smells attributed to help with anxiety and depression; things like lavender, honey, chamomile..

“Do you want me to stop?”

Slaine raises his gaze, shaking his head. That small smile remains, gentle, _warm_. “No,” he says, “They help.”

Inaho nods, relieved that the upperclassman had not found the gifts to be odd, happy that he has been using all of them for the most part. If Slaine had found them odd, he might have thrown them away, or been put off. “Play me another song?” he asks, shifting the subject.

“On the violin?”

“It’s better than the piano.”


	2. Year Two

Slaine had shown up in tears.

Glancing toward the clock on his desk, Inaho notes the time; it is nearly midnight, and though that in itself is not odd, Slaine showing up on his doorstep at this hour _is_ , even if their houses are not all that far apart. _Anyone else would question whether this was appropriate or not,_ he thinks to himself.

It is late, and it is dark, and it is chilled outside. Slaine _should_ be sleeping, in his own bed, in the house with his parents.

Inaho does not care that Slaine had shown up so late.

It hurts to see him like this.

“Slaine..” he calls softly, gently taking Slaine’s hands in his own, thumbs lingering along the old scars that have since healed. They are tender. Fragile. They mar his skin like the scratches on his violin case, and they will never disappear.

Lifting his head, Slaine gazes at Inaho with tears in his teal eyes; they are rimmed red and puffy. Before he came here, he must have already been crying for a little while. Something had woken him up; the blond is wearing those loose, grey pajamas of his, and his hair is a fluffy mess. “I.. Inaho..” The name comes out breathless, caught between soft sniffles and sobs.

_You don’t call me ‘Kaizuka’ anymore._

“.. I'm.. sorry, Slaine..” Inaho whispers, continuing to rub his thumbs along the scars, always careful not to press too hard, not to dig his nails in. This part of Slaine will always be the most sensitive, the easiest to hurt. “You're hurting, but.. because I won't let you..” he says, trailing off, unable to finish.

Because he had told Slaine last year that he did not want him to hurt himself anymore, Slaine cannot disappear, no matter how much pain he is in. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, his opinions to himself.

It was not his place, after all, to interfere with a painful wish that Slaine had made a long time ago.

_.. right?_

“I want to stay,” Slaine says between quiet sniffles, breaths caught in his throat, heart threatening to crack and break further than it already has, “I want.. to stay..”

“.. okay,” Inaho murmurs, nodding a few times. Tensing up when Slaine hugs him, he tries to relax, listening to Slaine's shaky breathing in his ear; it hurts, still. “Slaine,” he whispers, weak, “Should I.. Last year, should I.. not have.. told you..”

Slaine's nails lightly dig into Inaho's back. The hugs are always tight, _needy_ ; Inaho has gotten used to them over the course of their friendship, along with Slaine’s gradual increase in how affectionate he has become. It took awhile, for him to become completely comfortable, for him to let Inaho touch his hands and wrists. It took awhile, but it was worth it. “Do you regret it?”

The question is barely audible, far too soft. It is pained.

“No,” Inaho whispers immediately, shaking his head as best he can, “I don’t regret it. I don’t want you to.. disappear..”

If only he could say that he understands. That he understands how hard it can get, that he knows what it feels like to feel empty inside, at a loss, that he knows what it feels like to want to disappear.

It is stuck on his tongue, and the honest statement by itself is enough to taste bitter in his throat, just like the admission last year had. It hurts, rubbing even more salt into Slaine’s open wounds.

Falling quiet when Slaine hugs him the smallest bit closer, Inaho tries to remain still, listening to Slaine’s shaky breathing. Slaine’s cheek is warm against his own, and the touch has become almost familiar, at this point. They had their first sleepover a few months ago – something that Slaine previously was never able to do. Since then, Slaine has happily stayed over a couple of times, elated to have a chance at normal friendships, happy to do all the things he had missed out on as a child.

“You don’t mind?”

_That you need support?_

“No,” Inaho tells him, “I don’t mind.”

They remain still for a few short moments.

It is quiet, in Inaho's room. It is always quiet, this late at night.

Yuki has to sleep early to wake up early for work, and Inaho does not do anything particularly loud aside from cooking lunches sometimes during the night. Slaine prefers texting to calling, though Calm will sometimes call, and Inaho has to ask him not to yell into the cellphone.

It does not matter how much support Slaine needs. It does not matter if he needs hugs and affection, or if he wants to visit in the extremely early morning; Inaho is happy to provide anything he can, _anything_ to make the pain a little more bearable.

“What happened?” Inaho asks, breaking the silence.

It takes a moment. Slaine pulls away slowly, meeting Inaho’s dark eyes, his own teal ones still rimmed with tears. A small smile pulls a his lips, bittersweet, pained. “Can.. can you.. ever understand a person?” he asks, voice soft and low.

Inaho gently takes Slaine’s hands in his own, turning them over again to run his thumbs along the scars. His thumb lingers over a particularly nasty gash. With enough of an inspection, it is easier to tell which scars are older and which are newer, though thankfully, Slaine has not injured himself in quite some time. For that, Inaho is grateful. They are old, and they have healed over, but they serve as reminders of his painful childhood.

The repetitive action, according to Slaine, is helpful. It distracts him. Helps soothe the pain in his heart, even just a small bit.

“.. he.. _apologised_ . After all these years, as.. as if what he did to – to me, was..” The words come out staggered, shaky. Sucking in a soft breath, he shifts, but does not pull his wrists from Inaho’s gentle grasp. “It.. What happened, to me.. He can’t just.. With an _apology_ .. Doesn’t make it _okay_..”

Inaho glances upward, meeting Slaine’s eyes again. “You don’t have to forgive him,” he murmurs. “Not if you don’t want to. You never have to forgive anyone for anything,” he says, low, continuing to rub his thumbs along Slaine’s wrists.

It does seem to help, albeit help slowly.

Slaine nods a few times, breathing out. “She’s.. marrying his son,” he whispers, a bittersweet, painful smile pulling on his lips. Those tears in his eyes are still there, but they do not seem to want to fall.

Inaho’s dark eyes linger over Slaine’s face.

It is clear that the blond is torn – torn between being happy for _her_ and or distraught. It is an impossible situation; there is no way to choose which to feel, to choose what to think. “I know that – that they aren’t the same person, I know that he’d never.. he’d never hurt.. her, like I was.. But I..” Trailing off again, he shuts his eyes, hands nearly balling into fists – Inaho unfurls them as gently as he can, remaining quiet.

It hurts. It hurts just a little more than it does when Slaine plays his violin. Both leave Inaho’s heart a scrambled mess.

“.. can.. people.. truly ever understand one another..?” Slaine asks again, softer this time.

Inaho only hesitates for a moment before pulling Slaine into another hug, allowing his fingers to rest in Slaine's hair. The near-white tufts are bright against his fingertips, they stand out in the dim light of the room, barely illuminated by the lamps in the corners. “No,” he says, truthful, and Slaine tenses, taken off-guard by the blunt answer. “Human beings won’t be able to understand each other perfectly. It’s impossible,” he says quietly, “Most of us try to understand each other on some level, though. Like you and me,” he continues, “I think that’s good enough, if everyone at least tries.”

Slaine makes a muffled sound against him, another strangled sob, caught in his throat. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Inaho feels Slaine hug him back, nails lightly digging into his sweater, “for trying to.. to understand..”

* * *

 

“.. every time you come over.. you always end up looking at my photo album,” Slaine murmurs the next night, the two of them in Slaine’s bedroom, this time.

After calming down, they had both gone to bed and had been able to get to school relatively normally. Thankfully, Slaine left his parents a note in his distress, so they did not worry upon not finding him in bed this morning. Yuki, on the other hand, was completely surprised to find that Slaine had come in the dead of night.

Hugging his knees to his chest, Slaine stares at the brunet, watching Inaho’s dark eyes linger over the album. As far as he has seen, Inaho and Yuki do not have such albums in their house; instead, they mostly have photos in frames here and there, scattered throughout the house.

Slaine is young, in these photos. Probably six, at the youngest, and ten or eleven at the oldest. Even now, Slaine still kind of has a baby face, it is difficult to tell exactly how old he is. Going through the album, Inaho has never seen any photos with anyone else aside from the three of them – Saazbaum, Orlane and Slaine, that is. There _are_ a few photos that look as if they may have been cut, but it is hard to tell whomever else might have been in the shot with them. Most likely, it is the family Slaine had first been placed with.

“When exactly did your parents adopt you?”

“Officially, they adopted me about eight months before I moved here with them,” Slaine says, and Inaho finds himself taken by complete surprise.

Slaine has obviously been in their care for much longer, and the three of them act as if any family would – the photos and albums and the way they act together are proof of that.

“There was an.. _issue_ , concerning who would get legal guardianship over me. Saazbaum and Orlane have wanted me since I was a child, but.. my biological father's will specified I be taken care of by another family.”

The words are pained.

“Father and mother finally got custody of me and I moved in with them in Germany before we moved here,” Slaine says, softening again. Smiling, he flips a few pages, and then points to a larger photo; it is him, Saazbaum and Orlane in what looks to be a gazebo in a garden. There are flowers _everywhere_ , organised neatly by colour and type, and there seem to be fruit trees in the back, far behind the gazebo. They look happy, eating breakfast together; Slaine especially seems to be ecstatic and enjoying himself.

_You really love your parents, don't you?_

“They've been visiting me since I was a child, took care of me when my biological father was busy with work,” Slaine says softly, “I wish they had been able to adopt me sooner.. They had a second house in England that they stayed in, just so they could see me..”

“That's very committed of them,” Inaho comments, rubbing his thumb against the photo. Saazbaum and Orlane should have been allowed to adopt Slaine far, far earlier, despite his biological father’s wishes. It should have been obvious that Slaine was not in good care with _them_. “I'm happy for you,” he murmurs, and Slaine softens further, resting his cheek against his knee, “You should take more photos soon. There are nice parks around here, and I’m sure they’ll take you to the aquariums and museums if you ask.”

That causes Slane to light up, a welcome sight after last night’s sleep over. “I want photos with you,” he tells him, sincere, though he quickly adds, “and the others, too!”

Inaho smiles when Slaine flushes. It is easy to fluster Slaine. Terribly easy. It only seems he has complete composure when his eyes are shut and he is playing the violin.

Still, it only takes a second for Slaine to falter and his smile to slip. “.. I.. really don't have to forgive _him_..?”

Inaho shuts the album and places it at the foot of Slaine’s bed, taking care to be gentle with it.

They had watched movies, earlier. Foreign films, in languages neither of them could understand. They had been cliche and cheesy, but they had made Slaine laugh – he laughed so hard at one point that he could not breathe until Inaho paused the movie and forced him to drink water.

Saazbaum and Orlane had not scolded them, this time, apparently aware of what had set Slaine off last night. Inaho finds himself getting into trouble more often than the other, mostly for attempting to make snacks in the middle of the night.

Slaine's laughter was.. nice. Inaho has not heard it in awhile. It made his chest warm and his heart light. Those movies had been exactly what they needed after last night.

“No. You don’t have to forgive him.”

Slaine frowns. “What.. about all that.. ‘if you don’t forgive, you can’t heal’ preaching, then..?” he asks, quiet.

“It’s nonsense,” Inaho answers plainly.

It is a cruel tactic used by others to try and make the victimised party feel guilty. There is no need for Slaine to associate with them any longer, not when he is obviously the one that has been wronged.

“Think about it,” he continues, soft, “Would you ever want to forgive someone who betrayed your trust? Could you forgive me if I hurt you like that?”

Slaine makes a soft sound of displeasure; it probably hurts, trying to imagine his dearest friend stabbing him in the back and breaking his trust and heart. They have grown fond of each over, reliant. Having his trust broken once is more than enough, by someone he was supposed to be able to trust, rely on.. “If.. you ever came close.. to betraying me like that.. I don't think I could forgive you,” he finally says, soft and low.

“And you couldn't forget, either?”

“.. I.. I don’t want to imagine how badly it would hurt,” Slaine whispers, and Inaho watches as the other reaches out for his hand, loosely grasping it, “I wouldn’t.. ever be able to.. to forget something like that.”

Inaho remains quiet for a second, remains still as Slaine's fingers gently smooth his palm.

Trust and affection. Slaine finally has someone his age to confide in, spend time with; it must be relieving, having someone to rely on, other than his parents.

“You.. don’t ever have to forgive him, or forget what he did,” he murmurs, and he hears Slaine’s breath catch. “You can hate him, for as long as you want. For the rest of your life, if you want. You can curse him and wish he rots in prison, if that’s what you want,” he continues, still low, still soft. Managing a small smile, he whispers, “You can do all of those things and still be happy, away from him.”

Forgiveness is earned. _They_ will never earn it from Slaine, they do not deserve it.

“They.. keep saying.. Her family keeps.. that I should..”

“.. you don’t have to,” Inaho repeats, and then, softer, “You never have to go back. You like it here, don't you?”

_Where you’re safer, happier, with real friends and far away from those people._

“I.. like it, here.. with you.”

They fall silent.

Inaho's gaze flickers downward, to their hands. The blond's touch is warm against his skin, and it tingles, kind of; it tingles in a similar way his heart does when it catches. “Can I.. ask you something?” he asks softly, dark eyes lingering on the scars on Slaine's wrists. They are visible from this angle, irritated and scarred over pink standing out between white.

Each time he sees them, it is a new sort of hurt.

Things could have been different, for Slaine. If Saazbaum and Orlane had just been allowed to take him home with them, to care for him all those years, things could have been different.

“.. go ahead,” Slaine prompts, voice low.

“When you.. when you hurt yourself, how.. how many times did you.. try to..” Inaho is unable to finish, the words stuck in his throat. It is another question he should probably not be asking, but one he wants an answer to, nonetheless; if it means figuring out how to get Slaine to stop, then..

_If it means understanding him, then I.._

A pained smile pulls at Slaine's lips. “It was.. it was about.. a dozen, or so,” he murmurs, and that causes Inaho's heart to ache more than it ever has.

A dozen attempts. In _their_ care. And no one except Slaine's parents had tried to help.

“I didn't hurt myself.. because.. because the pain felt good, or anything..” he continues, still using that soft tone, “It – it hurt, terribly, each time, until I lost consciousness, and.. and I never.. never once lost consciousness permanently..”

_Because they'd take you to a hospital and patch you up._

“I only did it when things got.. when they got.. too difficult, when I wanted to – to disappear, I'd..”

The words come staggered.

It will never be easy, talking about this. The trauma will stay with Slaine for the rest of his life.

Inaho rests his free hand over Slaine's, gently smoothing it, whispering patiently, “Take your time.”

It does not matter how long it might take for Slaine to get the words out. Minutes, hours, days – it is irrelevant when Inaho is willing to wait as long as it takes, to do things at Slaine's own pace.

Nodding, Slaine breathes out and looks away from him. It comes out shaky.

They are alone, in Slaine's house. Orlane is off grocery shopping, she mentioned wanting to get everything ready in time for the party. Saazbaum is still at work.

They have time. If Slaine does not want to continue now, then they can do so later.

“.. I.. was.. only taken to a public hospital once,” Slaine whispers, “It was one of the rare times they left me by myself, with a maid. They locked up all the knives with locks on the drawers, and barricaded the medicine cabinets, so I.. I found a letter opener.”

Another pause.

Slaine bites on his lip, not hard enough to draw blood – another shaky exhale escapes his lips, and he shuts his eyes.

It hurts.

Aches, like an open wound that will never perfectly heal, like a bruise dangerously sensitive to the touch.

“I assume she called an ambulance for me. The shock of finding me must've made her panic, and.. she didn't think to call the person usually in charge of my care,” Slaine says, bittersweet now. “I liked her. Her name was Calina. When I woke up, she was there, and the doctors were with her..” he continues, the memory painful; it hurts to think about the past, about the few people that had tried to help him out of an impossible situation, “I begged the doctors to let me stay. I told them why I'd done it. They – they _believed_ me. They said they'd call someone for me, and I was put on suicide watch. I did everything they wanted me to do. I was twelve, when that had happened.” Looking toward Inaho again, those teal eyes of his gloss over, heartbreak within them. It is familiar, vaguely; Inaho remembers what it feels like to be that hopeless, that desperate. “I stayed for a week. Until my parents adopted me, that was the best week I'd ever had.. Calina stayed, too, and helped me.. And.. at the end of the week.. _he_ finally came, and said he'd be moving me to a private hospital.”

Inaho tenses when Slaine suddenly squeezes his hand, _hard_.

This must be among the worse of his memories. It must be something Slaine tried so hard to forget. The resentment in Inaho's heart deepens; should that man ever have the misfortune of meeting _any_ of Slaine's new friends, he will be in for quite the painful greeting.

“.. in the end, I tore my bandages and removed the stitches and tried again. The doctors insisted I should stay there, and the psychiatrist I’d been talking to insisted that I needed help that she could give me,” Slaine murmurs, the words coming a little easier now, still terribly soft, “I think he had them fired for custodial interference, and paid off whomever needed paying to look the other way. Calina was fired, too, deemed unfit to take care of a single child that she was supposed to be watching. Every time after that, I made sure to cut deeper and deeper and hoped I'd stop waking up.”

Inaho freezes when Slaine leans forward and hugs him, caught off-guard.

It is warm, again. Careful. Slaine's nails lightly dig into his back, not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, and Slaine trembles against him like a leaf caught in the wind.

“I don't – I don't understand why I didn't die, I.. I took sleeping pills once, and.. I still..”

The words are shaky again.

Inaho hugs back, pulls Slaine closer to him, rests a hand against the back of the blond's head.

It is warm.

Slaine is warm, and Inaho feels Slaine's heart beat terribly fast against him, going nearly a mile a second, _thump thump thumping_ like a frightened rabbit.

“I don't understand, but I'm.. glad that.. that I'm here, with you and my parents and everyone..” Slaine whispers, sniffling softly. A few tears slip, despite attempts to keep them at bay.

They feel warm, against Inaho's neck.

Slaine is so warm, and he is _alive_.

Smoothing Slaine's hair, Inaho listens as the blond's irregular breathing slowly starts to even out, feels Slaine's heart calm against him with each soft, shaky breath. “I'm glad, too,” he whispers, sincerely grateful that Slaine is here, “Thank you.”

Slaine makes a sound, too muffled to hear properly.

They remain like that, for a few moments.

Inaho's heart feels odd, in his own chest. It has seized up in a different kind of way, feels like a rock that he cannot swallow. “Do you.. want to go to the park, tomorrow?” he manages to ask in spite of the feeling; it is hard to swallow his heart, and it goes down painfully.

The question is innocent. A suggestion, to spend their weekend together, to forget about the painful things of today.

It almost feels like he will be disappointed if Slaine's answer is ‘no’, despite the slim chance that it might be.

Usually, whenever they go out, it is the two of them as well as Inko, Nina and Calm, and though Slaine enjoys himself.. it is clear that the gatherings have a bigger drain on his energy and comfort. Inaho has noticed that Slaine prefers smaller gatherings, where he can perform and talk and rest as he pleases, despite being much more outgoing.

“It’ll be fun,” Inaho adds, and Slaine manages a nod, relaxing against him, grip loosening.

“Can I bring mother’s camera? For photos?”

_You mean, ‘am I allowed to take pictures of us’?’_

“You won’t drop it in the ponds?” Inaho teases, knowing full well there is no chance that would happen. There is a strap on it, a sturdy one, and since it is Orlane’s.. Slaine will obviously be as gentle and careful as possible.

The jab earns him the smallest bit of laughter, more than welcome after Inaho's painful question, “Of course I won’t!”

* * *

 

Inaho stands beside Slaine as the other crouches down beside the pond they have come to visit, watching as the blond dangles his fingers in the water.

It is cool outside, today. Cool enough that most people would shy away from the water, or at least avoid touching it. Inaho is keeping his hands in his pockets, content enough to simply watch as Slaine enjoys himself.

They have already taken a few photos together, with Orlane’s camera hanging from Slaine’s neck in its cloth case. Inaho expects them to be printed as soon as possible, and added into Slaine’s album. Perhaps Inaho should ask for copies, to show to Yuki, as proof that Slaine does, in fact, have fun.

Slaine has a warm smile on when he lifts his head, teal eyes brighter, warmer than they used to be. It is clear that he is trying not to laugh at the way the koi feel against his skin. It is lingering, the slightest amount of touch. “It’s warm, you know, and – and it..” Biting on his lip, he holds in another laugh, and Inaho notes the colour in his cheeks, the faintest of reds, the genuine happiness in his eyes. “.. it doesn’t tickle, that much..” he finishes, and it is clear that he is lying.

_Indulge him._

Crouching down beside the blond, Inaho’s dark eyes flicker between the camera and the chilly water. Instead of dipping his hands in, he presses them to his knees, trying to remain steady at the pond’s edge. “Do you know what these types are called?” he asks, and Slaine thinks for a moment.

These koi are white and have spots of red and orange, shimmering and shining underneath the water’s surface. Their scales catch the sun when they break water, and underneath it, the constantly moving water casts an array of lines along their bodies. They are quite a pretty sight, especially when grouped together like this. They are rather large in comparison to other fish, and Inaho thinks this is Slaine’s first time being this up close to them.

“It was.. the name of a colour, right?” Slaine finally answers, smiling sheepishly.

It is only natural he has a hard time recalling. Unlike other colours, it is not common enough to be talked about in normal conversation.

“Yes,” Inaho says, nodding, “It’s ‘amber’. Their name means ‘red and white’, which..”

“Which is the colour you get when you combine the two,” Slaine finishes, beaming. Pulling his hand out from the water, he dries his fingers on his pants, though his teal eyes linger over the colourful fish in the pond.

Some of the _kohaku_ koi slowly swim away, quickly losing interest, but some of them remain and linger, their dark eyes staring vacantly upward. No light shines in them, even with the water’s sheen. They seem to still be interested in the blond before them, even if he is no longer disturbing the water or feeding them.

“You look happy,” Inaho whispers, and that blush on Slaine’s cheeks darkens a few shades more, gaze slipping as he falls into a fluster.

Looking away from Inaho and the koi, Slaine pulls at his hair, trying to use it to hide his eyes and cheeks, though it is to no avail; the tips of his ears are reddened as well, and he is already starting to bite on his lip again, trying to hide another smile. “I.. I am..” he mumbles, bringing his knees to his chest, now, resting his cheek on them, “I’m really happy. Thank you.. for.. taking me..”

It is difficult to speak, again, and Inaho does not know why.

“Slai-..”

“Ina-..”

The two of them stop, and Inaho thinks for a moment that Slaine may become flustered again and clam up – instead, Slaine presses a hand to his mouth as he stifles a laugh, the fluster and embarrassment melting away. Clumsy accidents, blurts, are enough to get him laughing, just like those terrible movies they had watched last night.

Inaho falls silent at Slaine’s muffled laughter, reluctant to interrupt. There is no need to stop Slaine’s laughter with unnecessary talk.

“You’re – you’re really..” Slaine starts to say, only to trail off and leave the statement unfinished. A warm smile pulls at his lips, and the laughter slowly subsides, leaving him with a sort of relaxed happiness.

_I’m really what?_

Shifting, Slaine leans away from the pond, careful not to lose his balance. The fish will not take well to almost being crushed, should anyone fall in. “Do you want to take more photos, Inaho?” he asks, soft as he holds up the camera’s case. With his long sleeves and jacket, the scars on his wrist are harder to see. At least Slaine has not had to be soothed, today; he does not like it when people stare at the cuts. “The water would look nice in the background..” he murmurs, still smiling, warm, “I'll print out some photos for you.”

Inaho glances between the water and Slaine, again.

The koi are still near the pond’s edge, breaking the surface to try and get a better look at the case in Slaine's hand. Each deliberate movement seems to fascinate them.

“All of them,” Inaho says, “I want all of the photos.”

Slaine nods, easily agreeing; they have more than enough photo paper at home, and the camera does not need to be taken elsewhere since it does not use film. Unzipping the case, he pulls the camera out, and Inaho feels the blond's head against his own, a gentle pressure –

“Make sure you smile, this time.”

* * *

 

It had taken longer than it should have to realise what the feeling is.

Falling in love with Slaine is a mistake, albeit an unintentional one.

An error.

An slip-up, a blunder, an oversight, a slip, a misstep, an _accident_ –

All other synonyms to describe the fatal flaw in his human programming die on his tongue when Slaine steps out of the dressing room, pale cheeks flushed red as he tugs at his jacket, his sleeves, his collar – tugging on anything to keep his hands occupied and to keep him from having to turn and face the mirror.

Inaho has never been in love before, let alone felt any romantic attachment to anyone.

Falling in love with him had not been something Inaho consciously intended on doing.

“You look nice,” he murmurs, and that blush on Slaine’s cheek deepens, crimson now.

Slaine remains standing before the other, refusing to even glance at himself in the mirror. “It – it looks too formal,” he says, slow as he meets Inaho’s dark eyes, “I can’t.. wear this, to father’s party.. No one will be wearing white..” Again, he pulls at his collar, trying to loosen it around his neck – it looks as if a bowtie or tie is supposed to go there, and thanks to Saazbaum, they definitely have more than enough money to buy either.

“You’ll stand out, just like you normally do,” Inaho tells him plainly, earning a quiet sigh this time.

Turning away from him and reluctantly looking toward the mirror, Slaine frowns, wondering why they had settled on a _white_ suit out of all the choices available.

Most of the shop is full of the standard black and grey choices, only different due to different styles and assorted patterns that the fabric is made up of. There had been a red one that had seemed interesting, but Inaho did not like it; he said it looked too much like an army uniform. Slaine assumes he means the ones for the British army, the ones that resemble nutcrackers. There had been a blue one, too, that Inaho had said looked like the American naval force uniforms. Thus, Inaho picked out a white one – the _only_ one he seems to like, and is also the only one that makes Slaine stand out even more than he already does.

“.. I think.. you look..”

There is a pause, and Slaine’s blush deepens further.

Inaho has never been very good with controlling his words, and that is clear even now – he continues to be embarrassingly blunt and honest, even if his compliments do not seem to be the best sounding ones.

Slaine has not forgotten how Inaho first complimented his playing – _‘You played nicely’_ , is not something most people would take seriously, some would even take it as an insult.

“.. really..”

“Just.. go ahead and say it,” Slaine mumbles, knowing it would do no good to try and stop his friend. Either Inaho says it now, or he mentions it later, in casual conversation with their friends.

“Beautiful.”

Though he had been expecting it, Slaine groans and covers his face, feeling the warmth of his own skin against his palms, wondering what the clerk and other customers must think of them. They are a pair of high school students in a high end suit shop, trying to buy clothing based on the whims of someone who does not seem as if he has even worn a suit, before.

“I think you should get this one.”

Slaine bites on his lip as he pulls his hands away from his face, too torn between being flattered or confused by Inaho’s compliments. The brunet is an enigma, and it is hard to try and think about what goes on through his head before words leave his mouth. Perhaps Inaho does not even think before speaking. “Why aren’t _you_ trying suits on?” he demands, not wanting to be the only one to put up with this, “Father invited you to the department’s office party.. They're celebrating his one year transfer. I know you’re coming because Yuki’s coming.”

Inaho gazes at the other. “Yuki-nee has a suit for me at home,” he says, shifting on his small stool, “So I don’t need another one.”

“Oh?” Slaine questions, smirking, “And how old is it?”

This time, Inaho feels his cheeks flush, just slightly.

It is clear what Slaine is trying to get at.

Though Inaho is loathe to admit it, it has been quite some time since he has grown – the photos of him and Yuki at home are proof of that. Yuki has always been taller than him, and probably always will be, as well as Slaine, Inko and Calm..

He shifts further, glancing down at his shoes. Like Slaine’s, they have a small heel; they came straight from school and have not had a chance to change, not that it would help any. Even if Slaine wears flats, he is still taller. “.. you’re below average height, too,” he mumbles.

Almost immediately, the smirk slips from Slaine’s lips, a frown replacing the teasing playfulness. “I’m taller than you are!” he retorts, clinging to those few centimetres he has over Inaho, “And how do you – how do you even know that? I’d be average height if I were Japanese.. and _still_ taller than you are..”

That last part comes out a mumble.

Inaho offers the other a small smile, knowing he has triumphed over Slaine this time around. “I Googled it,” he says plainly, gently tapping on his phone that is sitting upon a stack of shoe boxes. “Are you going to buy that suit?”

Slaine starts to pull at his sleeves again, trying to hide the small bit of exposed skin between the jacket and his hand. There is just the smallest piece of visible, scarred skin, and it seems as if he wants there to be _none_.

“I can ask the clerk for a longer jacket,” Inaho says softly, “They do alterations.”

Glancing toward him, Slaine hesitates, biting on his lip again. “You really want me to pick this one,” he murmurs, turning his hand over to look at is wrist, at the scars just barely visible where the jacket does not hide them. “If.. you try on a few suits, and get a new one, then.. I’ll buy this one,” he tells Inaho, softening.

A bargain.

Slaine knows Inaho will not get embarrassed or flustered, but at least he will not be the only one trying suits on and making a fool of himself. “I'll pick a few for you, and _you'll_ try them on,” he says, smiling now.

“Alright,” Inaho easily agrees, standing up, glancing toward a nearby rack. There are none that are terribly distasteful, and he knows Slaine would not pick something horrible for him to wear, considering the party and all the people that will be there.. but Inaho is not fond of some of the colour choices. Perhaps they can talk about it before settling on one. “Pick whatever you want. I'll tell the clerk you'll be needing adjustments.”

* * *

 

“Smile,” Slaine tells Inaho, voice just under a whisper as he pulls on the brunet's arm.

“Aren't these _family_ photos?” Inaho mumbles, glancing up at Orlane, who is standing behind them, with Saazbaum. “I can take photos with you later,” he assures the other, earning a small shake of the head.

It must be embarrassing, taking so many photos in front of so many people – the department is full of clothes officers and other personnel, and though Inaho has been here a few times with Yuki, he cannot remember everyone that works here. Slaine must be having a hard time, surrounded by unfamiliar faces; it is not often that he accompanies his father to the station. A good thing, considering they would probably worry upon seeing the scars on his wrists.

“I can’t smile on command.”

“You can try,” Slaine insists, pulling on Inaho’s arm again.

They look like quite the pair, standing beside each other – it had been tempting to pick out something equally flashy, something that would have made Inaho stand out.. Rather than drawing more attention to the both of them, Slaine chose the blue suit that they had seen before.

Apparently, Inaho does not mind the blue as long as it was not the one that Slaine wanted for himself.

“I’ll smile if you play for me, later,” Inaho tells him, glancing toward him and offering him a small smile. The performances themselves might be difficult to smile for, with the music tugging at heartstrings and filling the air with a melancholic feeling, but Slaine is still deserving of the praise and admiration..

.. and Slaine at least smiles, once he has finished playing.

Flushing, Slaine tilts Inaho’s head back toward the photographers, insisting again, “The _camera_ , Inaho. Look at the..”

There is a flash.

The two of them look forward immediately, caught off-guard by the sudden snap of the camera.

Inaho tries to remain staring forward, tries not to tease and fluster Slaine anymore than he already has.

A difficult thing to do, considering it is one of the few things he can do without telling Slaine about his feelings.

“.. just.. smile at the camera,” Slaine mumbles, biting on his lip for only a moment, a second. One of those sheepish smiles pulls at his lips, threatens to break his annoyed façade.

Inaho manages another small smile and swallows his heart. It aches, but in a different way than usual; perhaps falling in love with a dear friend is not the most ideal situation to be in.

 

 

“You two are pretty open about it.”

Inaho raises his head first, catching Rayet's slightly familiar lavender eyes. “We're just friends,” he tells her, already knowing what she is trying to imply; Calm had mentioned the same thing earlier, amused by their antics when they had been taking ‘family’ photos together.

The insinuation causes Slaine to shift beside the brunet, his face flushing pink.

“Right,” Rayet murmurs, obviously not convinced. Still, she leaves it at that; it would do no good for anyone to make a scene during Saazbaum’s party. There is a small plate in one of her hands and a tiny toothpick in the other, with a piece of shrimp skewered on it.

“.. who invited you, Areash?” Inaho asks.

Orlane had told Slaine that he could invite whoever he wanted, knowing he would be uncomfortable at a party with nobody to talk to. Slaine invited Inaho. Inaho invited Inko, who naturally comes along with Nina and Calm, the three of whom Slaine likes and enjoys talking to.

The brunette frowns at him.

There is almost always a frown on her features. It has been awhile since her transfer, but, unlike Slaine, she has not become well affiliated with anyone in particular. It seems she is quieter, and prefers to keep to herself more. As far as Inaho has seen, she and Slaine have not even spoken to one another.

“Inko's girlfriend,” Rayet answers plainly, tapping the shrimp against her plate. A few flakes come off with each small tap, and it does not seem as if she will be eating the shrimp in their presence.

Nina.

“Why?” she questions, lavender eyes lingering over Inaho's face, “Don't want me hanging around?” A small smirk graces her features, and before Inaho can, Slaine responds instead, shaking his head.

“You know that isn't true,” Slaine says; it comes out quickly, and Inaho finds himself surprised. Though he still seems embarrassed by Rayet's earlier comment, there is worry in his eyes. “Father and mother have been asking about you and your father.. You haven't come to see us since you moved..”

“.. you.. two.. know each other?” Inaho asks, earning a small nod.

The smirk on Rayet's lips remains.

Inaho ignores it.

From the basic interaction he has had with Rayet, it has become clear that she enjoys dry sarcasm and teasing people, and Slaine is so terribly easy to tease. A stranger could do it, on accident, by complimenting him.

“How?” he asks, not minding an answer from either of them.

There is only a slim window for when they could have possibly become acquainted with one another, let alone a chance for Rayet to meet Saazbaum and Orlane. Slaine is the oldest out of them and the only third year in their group; as such, he has been busying himself with practise exams and looking for universities to try and get into.

“Our dads worked together in England,” Rayet answers, glancing over toward where Slaine's parents are – they are talking with an older man with cropped hair, and a very loose jacket sleeve.

“I thought your parents lived in Germany,” Inaho says quietly, glancing between whom he assumed is Rayet's dad and Slaine. There seems to be something slightly off about Rayet's dad, but he cannot tell what it is, yet; he does not appear to be intimidating and Saazbaum and Orlane seem to be at ease with him.

“They did. My parents and my biological father and Rayet's father all worked for the same company,” Slaine says softly, smiling sheepishly.

Inaho knows next to nothing about Slaine's biological parents. Neither Saazbaum or Orlane talks of them, and Slaine rarely mentions his biological father, the other week had been the first time Inaho has heard of him in months.

“There was an.. accident, at the work site.. My father died, and.. Rayet's father..”

“Missing an arm,” Rayet supplies, gesturing toward him, “Better than the alternative, though.”

Slaine shifts, looking away from her.

Inaho glances toward the man in question, _That's why his sleeve.._

“What happened?”

The two foreigners remain quiet for a short moment. They share a small look.

Pain flickers across both of their features, and Rayet’s gaze slips from Slaine to the tile beneath their feet, white and shiny and reflective. It it were not so dim, it would almost look like a mirror.

“If.. if I hadn't been sick that day, then.. father and mother would've.. they could've.. too..” The words come out too softly for Inaho to catch them all, but they sound relieved, despite the circumstances.

Inaho can understand.

It is better to have _someone_ , as opposed to having no one at all.

Yuki used to be incredibly sad, after their parents died and they were sent off to an orphanage for a few years. Inaho cannot remember a single thing about them; it happened far too long ago. Yuki does, though. She talks about them sometimes. Inaho wonders what it must feel like, wonders which is better – not remembering or knowing, or remembering the loss and having no one to fill that void.

Inaho and Yuki have each other.

Slaine has Saazbaum and Orlane, but he could have had no one.

Rayet could have had no one.

Pushing either of them will not get him any more information on the topic; it is still traumatic, probably, and Inaho is not all that interested to see Rayet angry.

“Slaine, we're taking a walk outside,” he tells the blond, pulling at his hand.

It is still cool outside, with an annoying chill in the air, but he does not intend on being out for long; he only wants to escape Rayet's view, so that she will leave them be.

“E-eh.? Ah, w.. wait!” Slaine cries, taken off-guard when Inaho starts to walk away; Inaho's grip is tight on his hand, firm, and while it does not hurt, it leaves Slaine little time to react. “Don't – don't forget to say hi to my parents, Rayet! I'll see you later!” he calls as they walk away.

Inaho spares Rayet a glance. There is another one of those smirks on her lips, and it is hard to ignore the gnawing, _knowing_ feeling in his heart. “Enjoy the party,” he mumbles, wondering how she had managed to figure it out.

 

 

“You – you didn’t have to.. to.. walk so quickly, you know.. I don’t have.. as much.. energy as you do..” The words come out slow and staggered between soft breaths, a white fog following after each one.

Inaho shifts beside Slaine, careful not to touch the cold, metal railing on his other side. “I’m sorry,” he apologises, genuine; he had not meant to push Slaine, he had only wanted to avoid Rayet’s comments and keep Slaine from being flustered.

It should only take a few moments, hopefully, for Slaine to regain himself.

A sheepish grin pulls at Slaine’s lips, and he glances toward the brunet. There is a playful look in his eyes, and his cheeks are flushed pink; it is hard to tell if it is from exertion or something else. “Did.. did you.. want to be alone with me, that badly..?” he teases, words still coming out a white fog.

“Maybe I did.”

It comes out a mumble.

Inaho does not realise he has even said anything until Slaine’s eyes widen in surprise, the admission catching him off-guard. Inaho's tongue feels like lead, heavy in his mouth and it is difficult to speak with. Parting his lips to say something, trying to remedy what had just spilled, he stares at the other for a moment, silent and at a loss for words.

They come to him seconds later.

“I.. didn’t mean..”

Slaine leans over, resting a hand on Inaho’s knee.

Inaho goes still when Slaine presses a kiss to his lips, warm and soft and gentle, and –

Slaine pulls away when Inaho does not reciprocate, confusion and hurt flickering across his features. “S.. sorry, I – I shouldn’t have.. That wasn’t.. It didn’t – didn’t mean.. I must’ve been – been mistaken..” Tears well up in his eyes and he moves to pull away completely, stopped only when Inaho grabs his wrist, over the initial shock. “Ina–..”

It is his turn to freeze when Inaho pulls him back into a kiss, taken by complete surprise.

It takes a moment to register properly.

Inaho is kissing him.

Inaho is kissing him back.

Inaho is kissing him because he wants to, too.

When it finally does click, Slaine realises that neither of them are quite sure of what they are doing – the two of them are clumsy, and they bump their teeth, and Inaho’s grip on Slaine’s wrist slackens and loosens with each slow passing second.

It slips completely, after a moment.

Slaine closes his eyes when he feels Inaho’s palm against his cheek, gentle. Unsure of what to do with his hands, unsure of how to kiss back, he manages to reciprocate the pressure as best he can, tries to remind himself to breathe.

Breathe, whilst somehow figure out how to kiss the person who wants to kiss him, but also has no idea how.

Inaho’s lips are warm, against his own. Chapped. The clumsy kisses are not as gentle as Slaine’s had been; they are firmer, more enthusiastic.

They are childish.

The two of them bump their foreheads together between clumsy kisses, unable to figure out which way to tilt their heads, and Slaine finds himself getting very dizzy very quickly. The kisses are small and short, just enough to linger, and does not leave much room for taking in a breath.

Pulling away when he cannot breathe anymore, he presses his head to Inaho’s shoulder.

No one has ever told him that kissing requires practise; they did not say how clumsy it would be. In all of those movies, those books.. the way couples talk about it, they make it seem so _easy_.

It is anything but.

Even their simple, clumsy pecks are much more difficult than they had initially appeared, especially when both of them are confused and surprised and excited –

“I don’t know how to kiss you,” Inaho says, pulling Slaine into a hug, not wanting him to get the wrong idea again. Waiting to reciprocate Slaine’s earlier kiss, despite the shock, had nearly broken the other’s heart, made him doubt and hurt.

Slaine hugs him back, slow, and lightly digs his nails into Inaho’s back. Relaxing, he breathes out softly, and it comes out a white fog again, his heart a nervous wreck as he tries to process what had just happened. “I.. don’t know how to kiss you, either,” he admits quietly, laughing as he rests his chin on Inaho’s shoulder, presses their cheeks together.

It is warm, again.

Slaine is always so warm against him, despite the small trembles, the shakiness. Inaho finds it more difficult to remain still for so long, despite having become used to Slaine's embraces; it is even more difficult after what had just happened.

Gently running his fingers between tufts of Slaine's near-white hair, Inaho breathes out, wondering if the blond can feel his heartbeat.

It beats and beats and beats, hard and fast just because he had accidentally fallen in love with Slaine. It seems like it has happened so quickly and unexpectedly; Inaho did not realise love would feel like anxiety, sometimes, or feel terrible or make him sick, all while making him warm, excited, afraid.

Inaho's heart is a rock in his throat, a hard lump to speak over, something that that threatens to catch and spill over every word he wants to say. _‘I fell in love with you a few months ago,’_ are some of the words, an admission.

“We’re – we’re not just friends.. are we?”

Slaine's question comes impossibly soft with the slightest hint of teasing. It is mostly laced with scared uncertainty.

Inaho swallows his heart. It goes down, hard, settles in his chest still beating impossibly fast. It feels nervous, wondering what Slaine might possibly want to be, what Slaine wants to do with their feelings.

Still. In the end, it is up to Slaine to decide whether or not he is ready for something like this.

“.. what do you want to be?”

Relaxing further against the brunet, Slaine breathes out, soft, his own heart managing to correct itself and beat properly, slowly. Adjusting himself, he hugs Inaho closer, relishing every warm second. “Together, with you,” he finally says, tone still low, “I want to be with you.”

 

 

The students are quiet as they sit at one of the department’s tables, eager to see whatever is in the box Saazbaum had just handed Slaine.

It is entirely made of cardboard, and it is plain, with no markings or tape or stickers on it. Its flaps are neatly folded inward, shut to hide the box’s contents. Setting it down on the table, Slaine turns it, taking care to be gentle with it.

Orlane and Saazbaum have often brought home gifts for Slaine, but they are mostly all small things, like plants, or oil, or wood polish, or new tools needed to keep Slaine’s violin in top shape..

Once, they _did_ bring home a relatively large pot for a bonsai tree. The tree itself is red, and Slaine seems to be fond of its presence. Inaho is unsure if Slaine's parents got the tree for him as well, or if Slaine bought it himself; the pot was empty one day and filled the next.

“Open it!” Nina urges excitedly, beaming as she sits across from the other blond, green eyes warm.

Slaine flushes and nods, taking care to remove the first flap gingerly, trying to be gentle with whatever it is his father had gotten for him. It is a little embarrassing, receiving a gift at a party that is supposed to be meant for him, for his father’s hard work throughout their year of living here.

Inaho watches his new boyfriend, glancing between the box and Rayet, who has not stopped smirking at him since he and Slaine came back inside about fifteen minutes ago. The foreign girl has yet to say anything, at least, though he doubts that she will keep quiet for long. Hopefully, she will have the decency to ask in private, away from the others and their curious ears.

“Oh..! Th.. this is..” Slaine immediately starts wiping at his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket, trying to stop the hot tears that well up.

Leaning over to glance inside the box, Inaho blinks in surprise upon finding the familiar sight of a violin case.

This one the same white shade with the same yellowish lining as Slaine’s own, but newer. Presumably, there is a new violin inside the case, and Saazbaum did not just buy Slaine a new case; Slaine has mentioned before that both his case and violin, while in remarkable condition, are almost seven years old.

“It’s a case,” he tells the other students as Slaine pulls his hands away, the skin around his eyes reddened now from the rubs.

“Ah..!”

“Can we see?”

Nodding again, Slaine removes the case and pushes the box aside, carefully resting the case on the table before them. This white case is shiny and free of the stickers that his other case is decorated in. It is not scratched, either, and lacks any small dents; it is in perfectly new shape. Try as he might, it was inevitable that his old case would get the tiniest of defects over the years. Though he is obviously gentle and cautious with everything he is given, he can only do so much without seven years taking its toll.

The students fall silent again as Slaine unfastens the clasps and flips the top half of the case over.

The violin inside is stained a lighter shade of brown than the other one, wood glossy, untouched, its strings in pristine shape. Inaho still does not know about all the assorted parts and names of the violin, but it is immediately clear that this one is different. The topmost part is far more detailed than Slaine’s seven year old one is, more intricate; there are tiny flowers carved into this one, and they are beautiful, stained and shiny like the rest of the wood is. There are details between the pegs, too, with a large, carved flower being the most detailed.

Slaine gently runs his fingers along the strings, and then twists some of the pegs, just barely enough to be noticable; it will need to be properly tuned later on. “This is.. really..”

There is a small shake in his voice, and he lightly bites on his bottom lip as he glances upward at Saazbaum and Orlane, who are smiling warmly at him, seemingly proud of themselves for catching their son so off-guard. “Th.. thank you, very..” The rest of the words do not come out, they are stuck on his tongue.

“Why don’t you tune it and play something before we clean up and go home?” Orlane suggests, tone gentle and low. According to Slaine, Orlane is his biggest fan; it was she who suggested he keep himself occupied with something, all those years ago, and Slaine once mentioned that Orlane and Saazbaum are responsible for his lessons as a child, they encouraged him to continue to pursue it and paid for them even before Slaine was placed into the care of _that_ family.

“Alright..” Slaine murmurs, smiling to himself, “What should I play..?” Fingers continuing to linger on the violin’s strings, he gently strums them, the sound not quite coming out.

Inaho rests his cheek against his hand, whispering, “A love song.” It comes out a bare whisper, just low enough for only Slaine to hear, and he cannot help the tiny smile that pulls at his lips when Slaine flushes pink.

“.. okay,” the blond mumbles, twisting the violin’s pegs increments at a time, keeping his own tone barely audible.

They want to wait to say something, wait until they have some privacy, so they can speak to Saazbaum and Orlane first, and then Yuki, and _then_ their friends. Slaine had seemed excited to talk about it, embarrassed and flustered at the same time..

Slaine kissed him once more before they came back inside.

 

 

Love is unfair.

Pressing his hands to his lap, Inaho remains quiet as Rayet offers him small, sideways glances, that knowing look in her eyes again.

Keeping his eyes forward, he tries to focus on Slaine's playing; the notes come out so softly, low as they hang in the still, silent air. Most of the songs that Slaine plays – bar the obvious classics and whatever odd songs Calm suggests for practise – seem to be songs that must have played over the radio in Europe at one point, or have been popular, sung by some famous singer or one another.

It is nice, hearing Slaine play something light for once. Slaine’s fingers linger on the violin’s strings, pressing them firm to its neck; they thrum and shake with each miniscule movement, each shift in key.

Each movement is calculated. Careful.

The bow moves slowly along the strings, glides across as he plays; there is only the smallest sound that comes from the bow meeting the strings, the quietest sort of scrape.

Slaine's eyes are shut, and he has that warm smile on his lips, the genuine one, the one Inaho had fallen for. Even among dozens of people, he manages to slip into his own world; a world where it is empty, but not lonely, silent, but not frightening, and he is free to play as he wishes.

A love song.

Inaho breathes out softly, trying to calm his heart.

A love song suits Slaine far better than the sad ones, the painful ones; it is _beautiful_ and Inaho wants to ask him to play similar pieces for him in the future, when they are alone.

It will be romantic.

It will be different, than the time they have spent together alone, before. A good kind of different.

They all remain perfectly silent right up until the end, when Slaine plays the last note.

It hangs.

The last note is soft, still. Warm. A little bittersweet. It comes to an end when Slaine pulls the bow from the strings a final time.

The room is silent, still, so so quiet until Inaho starts to clap, like he usually does; the others follow suit, jarred from their trance by the sudden sound.

It was awkward, when they had first met; Inaho was unsure if clapping for a one-on-one performance was appropriate or not. Slaine had said that any musician would be glad for any praise.

Bowing politely, Slaine slowly lifts his head, teal eyes warm and that sweet smile remains on his lips. Their eyes meet and his smile widens for a second until Saazbaum and Orlane step up to compliment him, beaming, proud of him.

Though their eyes met only for a second Inaho finds himself fighting back a smile that threatens to break his stoic demeanour.

Calm says something to him.

Inaho cannot hear it, too preoccupied with the warmth in his heart.

Rayet bumps his arm, and there is still a small smirk on her lips. Even so, she remains silent.

Inaho ignores her, gives his attention back to Slaine, who glances toward him again, looking happy, pleased.

Love is unfair.

All Inaho can do is offer Slaine the smallest of smiles, for now.

 

 

“I think you played beautifully,” Inaho whispers, and Slaine flushes, glancing downward at their hands.

Their fingertips are barely touching, and Saazbaum and Orlane are far too busy bidding the guests goodnight to notice, but it seems the simple, bare touch is enough to fluster him. Despite his fluster, Slaine does not pull away. “You always say that,” he mumbles, keeping his gaze firm on their hands, flushed cheeks barely visible in the dim, dim light.

Even as the minutes pass and it gets darker and colder, Slaine is still warm, and his embarrassed fluster only serves to make him warmer, with the blood rushing to his face.

Perhaps it will start to snow, soon.

“I always mean it.”

At that, Slaine raises his head, another smile pulling on his lips. Relaxing, he murmurs, “I know.” Sparing a glance toward his parents, the blond shifts, their fingers still barely touching. “What.. what do you want to.. you call us?” he asks, most likely unsure of which term to pick.

“Lovers,” Inaho tells him, and Slaine reacts immediately, shaking his head and flushing red. “My boyfriend,” he quickly amends, wondering if ‘lover’ might be too intimate too soon, “Is that alright?”

If he teases Slaine too much, the blond may shy away and change his mind, in spite of their similar feelings.

This time, he earns a nod, and Slaine relaxes again, gaze slipping. “You're.. my boyfriend,” he says, soft, visibly happy albeit embarrassed as the words leave his lips. Pulling away completely, he pulls at his sleeves, pulling them downward. “I.. I'm really..”

“.. me, too,” Inaho tells him, soft. With each passing second, his heart becomes more difficult to calm down, and it is not going to slow until he is away from Slaine. “I'll.. I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, stepping away from him, “I'll have Yuki-nee over by nine.”

Slaine nods, still pulling at his sleeves, embarrassed and ecstatic and relieved.

That small smile on Slaine's lips is worth everything to the brunet; it is genuine, warm, and it leaves his heart a pounding mess of what he assumes is what love feels like. It feels confusing, but so very welcome and comforting.

“I'll.. see you at nine, Inaho..”

Falling in love with Slaine had not been something he had expected.

It is the best surprise that he could have hoped for.

* * *

 

_‘You can’t care an illness away’._

There is water dripping off of Slaine’s hair. Inaho watches as the droplets slide down tufts of Slaine’s near-white hair, watches as they linger like water on a faucet before becoming too heavy and falling down, meeting the wood almost too softly to hear. The droplets are kind of pretty. They catch the light shining in from Slaine's window before they fall and shatter.

Slaine catches him staring, and their eyes briefly meet. A small smile pulls on his lips, warm and genuine, and he sets his tin waterpot down on his desk, finished with watering his plants. “You couldn’t wait two hours to see me?” he teases, walking over and plopping himself down on his bed beside Inaho. More droplets slip and patter against the bed, temporarily darkening the sheets with his rough movements. “It’s still early.. We won’t start cooking breakfast for another half hour,” he points out, trailing off upon meeting Inaho’s eyes again. That smile of his turns sheepish, and his face flushes a warm red.

Staring at the other for a short moment, the brunet starts to lean forward when he sees some conditioner near Slaine’s ear, intending to wipe it away –

Slaine flinches.

It is just barely noticeable; it is the smallest of movements, and Slaine’s eyes are only shut for a second, his body only tense for a moment.

The two of them both freeze up when their eyes meet again, and Slaine’s smile slips and fades once he realises how he had reacted. “I..”

“Don’t apologise,” Inaho says before Slaine can get anything else out, “It isn’t your fault.”

 _You shouldn’t have to apologise for something that isn’t your fault. It’s_ **their** _fault that you.._

Slaine slowly relaxes as Inaho reaches forward, slower this time. “You’ve.. never touched my face, before..”

Inaho’s dark eyes glance between Slaine’s face and the conditioner as he rubs it into Slaine’s damp hair. It is nice, and it smells greenish, and Slaine’s skin is soft underneath his fingers. “I haven’t, no,” he responds, meeting Slaine’s eyes again, not pulling completely away from the other, “You’re soft.”

Slaine flushes again. The sheepish smile returns, and with Inaho’s hand against his cheek, he cannot look away that easily. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, leaning into the brunet’s touch.

_Love isn’t a cure-all, no matter how much you care for someone._

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Slaine murmurs, unable to help but tease the brunet. “Go ahead,” he says, softer as Inaho traces a thumb under his eye. The touch is still warm, still gentle, and it sort of tickles; it is hard not to laugh even a little bit, with Inaho’s thumb lingering over his skin. It is an unfamiliar kind of touch, and it had first made his heart catch and stop and ache at the memory of what it used to be like, when someone would touch his face.

This does not hurt.

The sense of panicked urgency dies away at that realisation.

Inaho continues to caress Slaine’s cheek, heart already starting to ache at the question he has in mind; it is why he had come so early in the first place. “.. do.. do you.. still want to.. disappear?” he asks, voice a bare whisper.

“.. sometimes,” Slaine answers honestly, his own tone soft and low. There is pain on his features, a sort of bittersweet kind, and that sheepish smile remains. Still, neither of them pull away from one another. “It's been better, lately,” he says, looking genuinely happy, despite the question, the painful thoughts, “I don't think it as much as I used to.”

The weight in Inaho's heart lessens. Breathing out, relieved, he nods, glad that Slaine has improved since living here, with his parents, amongst new friends. “I'm glad,” he whispers, and Slaine's smile softens.

The heater buzzes.

Last year, it had been the air conditioning unit making sounds, when they had not known each other well. It had been soft. Awkward, for the both of them; they had barely known anything about the other, and Inaho is grateful that Inko had asked him to help Slaine home, even if their second meeting had not gone all that well. That had been the day Slaine told him that they could probably be friends, that he wants to disappear. That had been the day Slaine had first played the violin for him.

Slaine breaks the silence. “After, um.. after breakfast, do you..”

A change in subject. It is probably best not to dwell on bittersweet thoughts, especially when they will be talking with Slaine's parents and Yuki soon; they do not want to give the wrong impression when they are happy with the change in their relationship.

Though the change may come as unexpected, Inaho is sure the three of them will be nothing but supportive.

“.. go.. date..”

Some of the words are lost to Slaine's mumbles, but what comes out is enough for Inaho to get what he is trying to ask.

Inaho returns the small, sheepish smile still on Slaine’s lips. “Yes,” he says softly, nodding, “I’d like that.”


	3. Year Three

“Can you play this one?”

Slaine turns at his boyfriend's question, and finds Inaho pointing to a cello. It is standing near a chair and a few music stands, away and hidden from the sunlight peeking through the windows. Meeting the other's eyes, he realises rather quickly that Inaho is completely serious, not at all seeing a very obvious problem. “.. Inaho,” he says, patient, sweet, “You do know that one is  _ significantly  _ bigger than my violin, don't you?”

In fact, it is not that much smaller than they are, perhaps a head and a half shorter. The violin he has now is about only a third the size of the cello.

Inaho gazes back at him, quiet for a moment. Those gears turn in his head, and he finally says, “They look identical.”

Truthfully, he is not wrong.

Aside from changes in their sound, which is not apparent until played, most string instruments in the violin family look quite alike. There is little to differentiate them to the untrained eye aside from the obvious size differences. Generally, they are a similar colour and have a similar wood finish, though they tend to have different decorations or engravings on the scroll, and the actual body itself can be engraved, though players do not generally do that with an expensive instrument.

“That one has to be played sitting down,” Slaine explains as he walks over, gently pulling Inaho away before the other gets any ideas, “I  _ could  _ technically play it. But not as well as a cellist would. That one is difficult to play, too..” Gesturing to a double bass with his free hand, he watches as Inaho looks over toward it, dark eyes lingering.

The double bass has a longer neck, a bigger body, and is terribly heavy. Slaine could never have hoped to play one when he was younger; it was simply too much for him at a time when he lacked the proper strength.

“You have to play that one standing,” he continues, and visible interest sparks in Inaho's eyes, “and it can be played without a bow. It's used in jazz, sometimes..” Smiling, he gently pulls Inaho closer to him, causing him to look away from the instrument, “I won't play that one, for you. It doesn't belong to anyone I know and it wouldn't sound the best in my hands, anyway.”

Inaho makes a soft sound at that, and Slaine cannot help the way his smile widens.

“You,” Slaine says, releasing Inaho's hand to grab his bow and a small chunk of rosin in its cloth from his case, “wanted a  _ violin  _ lesson, so that's what we're doing today.” Holding them both up, he waits for Inaho to walk over and take them, though his boyfriend looks mildly bemused as he takes it.

Despite telling Inaho, several times now, that it is  _ not  _ pig fat, Inaho still finds the rosin block odd, and Slaine has yet to find the proper word for it in Japanese. The closest one he has found so far is 'pine' or 'resin'.

“You've seen how I apply that to the bow,” he says, “I've already tuned the violin for you, so you just need to get the bow ready.”

Slaine knows Inaho only asked for a 'lesson' so that the two of them could spend some time together. It is kind of cute, seeing how he asks for certain things; Inaho probably figured he might get into trouble if the two of them were just wandering around the university together, while Inaho is in his high school uniform. At least he had the foresight to look like the two of them are actually doing something so they have an excuse in case a teacher comes around.

“Just rub the block on three or four times and it'll be ready,” Slaine continues, watching as Inaho continues to stare at the rosin block, “Don't do it anymore than that or the bow will grip too well and I'll have to play it extra, later, so it comes off.”

Though, he expects Inaho will not complain if Slaine plays a little longer than he usually does.

Inaho does as instructed, gently rubbing the rosin onto the bow's string. It smells vaguely of pine, and he does not seem to mind it so much with the cloth keeping his fingers clean of resin and oil.

Slaine takes the rosin block when Inaho has finished, and places it back into its own separate bag. Then, he helps Inaho arrange his hands and fingers properly on the bow and violin, receiving no complaint as he does so. It takes a moment; the positions are a bit awkward for people who are not used to it, though Inaho seems to be trying his best not to correct himself. Stepping back, he looks over Inaho's posture, helping him adjust his head so that his jaw sits properly against the violin rest. “There,” he says, “That's how you hold it. It feels awkward, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” Inaho murmurs, careful not to move.

Of course it does. A violinist is expected to stand or sit in the same position during a whole song, or several songs in a row, while looking immaculate and at ease.

It took years and years of practise for Slaine to be able to play the way he does now.

“How do I play?”

“You press the flat side of the bow,” Slaine says, pointing to said part, “to the strings, and pull. The more pressure you apply, the louder the sound of, but too much makes it scratch. Less pressure is used for continuous sound. Don't press or move any of the strings, for now.”

Inaho does as instructed. Using light pressure, he gently pulls the bow across the strings.

The sound is light.

Airy.

“Good!” Slaine hums, happy to see that Inaho seems to have the basics down. Playing individual notes and scales is much,  _ much  _ more difficult, but this is good enough 'practise' for what they need to appear to be doing. “You know, if you had the interest for it, you could've been a nice musician,” he says, teasing again.

Inaho smiles at that. “I prefer watching you,” he says, and Slaine knows it; Inaho has mentioned this before, that he would dislike anything that kept him from enjoying Slaine's performances.

The few times Slaine opens his eyes while he is playing, he finds himself surprised each and every time he sees Inaho looking at him with such intense attention, and it is quite clear that he truly is listening to each and every note

“.. but, maybe, if I do well enough, you can kiss me as..”

“Saazbaum?”

The voice startles both of them.

Slaine finds himself tense for a moment, completely caught off-guard, and beside him, Inaho lowers the bow, but does not remove the violin from his shoulder and jaw. Presumably, he does not want to adjust or mess up his posture.

Inaho falls quiet, and shifts the smallest possible amount, dark eyes glancing between Slaine and Harklight.

Slaine, too, looks between the two of them. “Harklight,” he greets, surprised to find the older student in this particular part of the university, “Can I help you?”

Harklight takes a moment to answer, gaze flickering between the two younger students. “My apologies,” he finally says, and the surprise slowly fades away the longer he looks between the two of them, “I didn't realise you were doing lessons today..”

Slaine occasionally does them, for any students who are interested in learning, or for any of the orchestra who want to practise with him. Generally, there are not many high school students that linger around, especially in the arts building; they  _ should  _ come around more often once entrance exams begin.

Harklight is probably confused as to why a high schooler is taking lessons here, rather than at their respective school.

Still, Harklight does not comment on it, despite the obvious confusion. “Barouhcruz needed you to help with the choir, but I'll tell him you're busy,” he says, keeping it short as he turns, about to walk away.

“Thank you!” Slaine calls after him, turning back to Inaho once he cannot hear Harklight's footsteps any longer.

There will always be another time to assist Barouhcruz – another time when Inaho is not here, when Inaho has not asked to spend time together. Besides, Barouhcruz is good enough on his own to help the choir; all Slaine really does is listen and ensuring the students all stay on key.

“Who was that?” Inaho asks, and it comes out with a curious lilt in it, soft.

“Harklight,” Slaine answers, “He's a third year in charge of managing the foreign students.”

Harklight's primary job is to ensure any foreign students or exchanges are feeling comfortable and at home on a Japanese campus, and he  _ seems  _ to do his job rather well. The two of them met after the entrance exams were over, where Matsuribi and Tsumugi had to stop Harklight from explaining how things worked –  _ 'He's lived here for almost three years' _ , they had to say, to reassure him that Slaine would have no problems, before Harklight tried to take him to a few classes meant to help foreigners fit in and act properly.

It was nice.

Despite Slaine feeling very well at home here now, a stranger had gone out of his way to try and help him feel more comfortable and not feel silly out in public by accidentally making any social mistakes.

“Alright,” Slaine says, readying himself, again.

Inaho does, too; resting the bow against the violin's strings, he waits for his next instruction, dark eyes lingering over Slaine's.

“Now,” Slaine says, slow, “to play individual notes, you..”

* * *

 

The rain is coming down rather heavily. It pitters and patters and comes down hard upon the leaves and flowers that are in the Saazbaum's backyard, and Slaine is quiet as he watches it.

Each drop of rain sounds like a heavy thump, and they are too many and too fast to make a proper rhythm. They fall down from the sky without end, without taking a rest, and form a deafening chorus of soft thumps, irregular and without a beat.

Slaine has tried counting.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

One, two, three.

One, two, three, four –

Another few hit, five, six, and then there is a seventh, an eighth, a ninth and tenth, raindrop, coming down all at the same time.

It is sort of like his heart.

Odd.

Irregular.

A messy chorus of beats without a proper tune, unable to work properly when Inaho is around. In his ears, it sounds like a novice band, all playing their instruments together but unable to quite attain a symphony, yet.

Gently tapping his finger against the wooden boards, he remains quiet as he watches the rain. It is cool, and it brings a chilling breeze with it; this is  _ much  _ more preferable to the agonising heat that has prepared itself now that summer break is only a few days away.

The rain does not cease, even for a short moment. There is no rest. No break in the chorus of downpour.

It comes down mercilessly upon the flowers and bushes and leaves, hits and hits and hits but the plants bounce right back up with each impact. Rain slides off of them as if nothing had happened, as if it had never hit them. They are far more resilient than people think.

Standing up slowly, Slaine brushes his pants off and is about to take a step forward and off of the porch when something warm gently pulls at his wrist, stopping him.

“It's cold, outside.”

Slaine turns to meet Inaho's dark eyes, gaze slipping to the small blanket slung over his other arm.

Inaho had left him alone for only a moment to go look for it, not wanting to force Slaine inside on the one 'nice' day they have had this week, but also not exactly warm with only Slaine to shield him from the chilling breeze.

It is kind of endearing.

Inaho gets cold rather easily –  _ I'm still not sure why. I think Yuki said it was genetic  _ – which means the two of them sit closely together quite often, and Inaho will almost always hold his hand.

It is nice. Giving and receiving affection.

“You don't want to play with me, in the rain?” Slaine asks, not sitting back down just yet. Taking his boyfriend's hand in his own, he laces their fingers together, playfully pulling Inaho toward the porch's edge, “It'd be fun..”

Inaho is warmer than usual. Perhaps he washed his hands with warm water before he came back outside. Usually, Slaine has to warm Inaho himself, after being taken by surprise far too often when Inaho grabs him or hugs him with his normally  _ freezing  _ palms.

Raising his head to look up at the other, Inaho does not pull away or move, letting his dark eyes linger over Slaine's face. “Outside..?” he murmurs, glancing over Slaine's shoulder.

The rain is coming down  _ hard _ still, and the dirt making up the garden has already turned to mud. It is easy to tell that the water is  _ freezing _ , even if neither of them are currently being rained upon. Leaving the safety of the porch will feel like taking a terribly cold shower, which Inaho is not the most fond of, but..

“.. will you play your violin for me, later? Since I played for you yesterday?” The question comes out soft, and it earns him the smallest of smiles, affectionate and warm.

“Of course.”

In the end, Inaho found it difficult to string notes together, though it was terribly, sweetly clear that he tried the best he could.

Inaho shrugs the blanket off, and it falls to the porch's wooden floor quietly, barely making any sound as it does. “.. alright,” he agrees, taking a step forward, “We can go outside for awhile. Your parents won't mind?”

Slaine shakes his head, humming softly to himself. “No, they like seeing me outside..” It comes out a murmur as he pulls Inaho forward just a tiny more, the two of them close to the porch's edge, now.

Inaho's breath catches, at that. Pain flickers in his eyes for only a moment, and Slaine realises it has to do with that he had just said.

Last year, he  _ did  _ mention that he was rarely let out of the house –  _ prison  _ – he stayed in during his time with  _ them _ , and Inaho  _ does  _ seem to have generally adverse reactions to hearing about his past. It has become fairly easy to see the changes in Inaho's face and eyes, how much it clearly upsets him to hear that someone he cares so very much about was mistreated and hurt.

“Let's play a game,” Slaine suddenly says, and Inaho raises his head again, surprise in those dark eyes, “Tag. If I win, I.. want to go on a date. At the beach. Just you and I, for the whole day.”

Interest flickers in Inaho's eyes, though his face remains the same.

It is difficult to get Inaho's face to flush; even playing the prettiest, sappiest love songs for him, all Slaine can manage to elicit is a warm smile and a 'thank you' kiss or hug. It seems easier to get him flustered and blushing by teasing him, which is  _ entirely  _ unfair considering how easily Slaine finds himself as red as a rose.

“And if I win, I want to tell you something,” Inaho says, looking rather serious, now.

Slaine feels his heart catch for a second, interrupt its beat. “Alright,” he says, keeping his tone even despite the excitement stirring in his heart, “I'll run around the garden three.. no, five times, and if you catch me, you win. If I make it back to the porch, then I win. Deal?”

“Deal,” Inaho agrees, and for a moment it seems as if he is about to let go of Slaine's hand so that their game can start.

Slaine feels his face flush when Inaho's grip tightens instead, worry now in those dark eyes of his. “Wh.. what's wrong?” he asks softly, knowing it is a little odd to feel so happy at the sight.

People worry because they care.

_ Usually. _

Inaho cares deeply for him, he has made that quite obvious by now. Inaho worries because he really, actually, genuinely feels something for him.

“What if you slip and fall?” Inaho asks, and Slaine wants to repeat it back to him, just as worried for his boyfriend as Inaho is for him.

“It can't be any worse than..” Slaine bites his tongue before the rest of that sentence comes out, realising at the last moment that he has not yet told Inaho about  _ that _ . There has not really been an appropriate moment, or a good chance to bring it up without startling him.. or upsetting him. He remembers how distressed Inaho had been, talking about  _ that _ man. “.. than the time I flipped over that swing in the park,” he amends, and it seems Inaho does not notice his nervous fix.

Still, Inaho's worry does not dissipate.

It is much harder to appease Inaho's worry than it was  _ theirs _ , but Slaine supposes this is what comes with someone genuinely caring about someone else.

“You had the wind knocked out of you.”

“If I fall, you can kiss me better.”

Inaho finally releases his wrist at the suggestion, unable to quite look Slaine in the eye.

It is hard to fluster Inaho, but oh, is it worth it when he succeeds.

“Ready?” Slaine asks, a loving grin on his lips as he turns around, taking a step off the porch and into the muddy grass, “Go!”

 

 

“Ah, Slaine, be careful..” Inaho calls, worry in his soft tone.

Slaine  _ is  _ trying his best to be careful.

Large stepping stones litter the backyard garden, slick and slippery with rain, making for a dangerous path for their little game. Though the two of them are trying to be careful and avoid slipping and falling into any of the flowerbeds or bushes, the rain has started to come down heavier and it is becoming increasingly difficult to maneuver around properly.

_ Just one more round,  _ Slaine thinks to himself, holding a hand near his eyes, trying to keep the rain from getting into them and blurring his vision; it is already plenty misty outside, and they are completely soaked. One more lap 'round the garden and he will have won – Inaho is being particularly cautious, and he has not been in the backyard often enough to learn the layout. They usually spend their time together inside or somewhere else entirely.

Once they are done with this little game, no matter the outcome, Slaine is  _ positive  _ Inaho will want to take a warm bath before dinner, and wash the mud from the bottoms of their pants and feet.

Looking over his shoulder, Slaine is about to offer his boyfriend another playful grin when he realises Inaho is approaching the small hole that Orlane had dug out for a berry bush or some other plant. It  _ has  _ to be filled with water by now, and probably just looks like another muddy slosh. “W.. wait, Inaho!” he calls worriedly, quickly turning around in an attempt to stop him.

Inaho does not stop soon enough; his foot gets caught in the dug out hole.

Slaine grabs hold of the other's wrist, trying to steady him –

_ thud. _

“Oh.. oww..”

“.. reckless, Slaine..”

Slowly opening his eyes, Slaine finds himself face to face with his boyfriend, and unable to sit up. There is a dull ache in his forehead, where their heads had collided, and a dull pain in the back of his head, when he met the ground. Gently pushing on Inaho's chest, he breathes out, trying to get the other to sit up, “Inaho, you're heavy..” It comes out soft and breathless, and he cannot help the way his cheeks start to heat up with the way Inaho is staring at him. Eyes slipping shut when Inaho leans down just the slightest bit more instead of sitting up properly, Slaine holds in a breath.

Inaho presses a kiss to where the two of them had bumped heads, taking care to be gentle with the impending bruise. Sitting up as Slaine slowly opens his eyes, he smiles at the blond, hands resting in the mud beside Slaine's head. “You win,” he says softly, and he does not seem disappointed, “Congratulations, Slaine. I'll take you bathing suit shopping on Saturday.”

“A-ah..” Heart catching, Slaine looks away, feeling it beat erratically in his chest, once again not following its usual rhythm. It sinks to his stomach, and he tightens his grip on Inaho's shirt. It is cold, in his hands, cold as he grips small fistfuls of it, and he can see the brunet's skin starting to become bumpy from the freezing rain. “Inaho, there's.. something.. something I have to..”

“Slaine! Kaizuka! Get out of the rain before the both of you catch colds!”

Saazbaum's voice causes the two of them to freeze up in surprise for a moment, a second, completely taken off-guard by the sudden call. Getting to their feet as quickly as they can, they pull apart from one another and return to the safety of the dry porch, accepting the towels that Orlane hands to them.

“Th.. thank you, mother..” Slaine says slowly, finding it difficult to talk with his heart in his stomach. It feels like a rock, and if feels as if he is about to be sick –

“Is it alright if I bathe before dinner?” Inaho asks, interrupting the sickening feeling with his soft voice, and Slaine breathes out, reminding himself to breathe properly, to stay as calm as he can. With the towel over his head and his hair completely soaked, Inaho looks sort of like a lost puppy, his baby face hiding those surprising thoughts he sometimes blurts out. Usually, the two of them bathe after dinner and then get ready for bed.

Orlane glances toward him, a patient smile on his lips. “Of course,” she says, and it comes out easily, so easily – when they told her that the two of them had started dating, she seemed so.. relieved.

It must be a relief for them that their son has found someone for himself, that their son is finally getting the life they told him they wanted him to have.

A happy one.

A  _ normal _ one.

Surrounded by people who genuinely care for him.

“I'll grab a bag you can put your clothes in so you don't track mud inside.”

Slaine is quiet when Inaho turns to him once his mother has gone, unable to get the words out over the rock in his throat.

_ 'There's something I want to tell you.' _

Inaho shifts, taking a step toward him and raising a hand. It hovers near Slaine's cheek for a moment before he changes his mind, helping Slaine dry his hair with the towel, instead. “Do you want to bathe together?” he asks, and it comes out easy, terribly easily.

Like his mother's response.

_ 'We can't.' _

“I..”

They have never bathed together. Slaine has not even seen Inaho change, and the same goes for the brunet – he has wanted to keep it like that for as long as possible, but..

Inaho's dark eyes linger over Slaine's face for a moment, searching, and when he does not find whatever he is looking for, they flicker upward again, but he does not stop drying Slaine's hair with the soft, warm towel.

The touch is gentle. It always is. It lingers, and Slaine can feel Inaho's fingers through the towel, messing his hair as he tries to dry it as best he can so the two of them do not drip water inside.

“We don't have to, if you don't want to,” Inaho says softly, “I don't want to make you uncomfortable. We can wait, until we've been together longer.”

It is genuine.

Inaho cares. Genuinely, really, truly, actually cares.

_ 'It isn't that. It isn't you, it's..' _

“.. there's.. something I've.. I've.. been meaning to tell you,” Slaine whispers, and Inaho stops.

Inaho's hands are at his ears, cupping his head. Neither of them pull away from one another.

“You don't have to tell me right now, if it's too hard.”

Slaine shakes his head carefully, blinking back the nervous tears in his eyes, swallowing the rock in his throat.

It still feels as if he is about to be sick.

It always does, when he has to talk about his past. But when he gets it out, he feels better.

_ I just need to get it out. Inaho cares. Inaho cares, and he doesn't mind listening. _

Inaho will not like him any less.

But he cannot bring himself to say it.

_ Why is it so hard? _

Glancing down at his shirt, he realises it has become completely see through from the rain, and it is clinging to the black shirt he has on in an attempt to hide  _ those _ . Ever since getting  _ those  _ he has been exceptionally careful, careful not to get caught in the rain while only wearing white, or get caught changing without an undershirt.

The other students never asked, in high school. They saw the scars on his wrist and probably assumed one thing or another, or felt pity for him.

“.. I.. I have..” Slaine starts, slow, trying to say each word carefully through each breath. It feels as if his heart has become incredibly tight, as if it will explode with how fast it is going; it hurts, almost, and he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. “.. scars, on my.. from..”

Each word feels like a dagger, cutting deeper and deeper into his heart.

Each word comes out shaky and weak, feels as if it will spill over into sobs.

Each word tastes like acid in his mouth, and he wonders sometimes if the resentment will ever go away.

Admitting he has more scars is not the difficult part.

Admitting who gave them to him is, though he has a feeling it is obvious who. Admitting how they were given to him is even harder.

Inaho has made it quite clear, in a number of colourful words that he usually does not use, how much he loathes the man previously in charge of his care, what he would like to do if he were to meet  _ him _ .

Slaine loathes  _ him _ too, to  _ his _ very core. How such a man was ever given the responsibility to care for him, he does not think he will ever understand, even when he is older.

Despite that, Slaine does not ever want Inaho to meet  _ that man _ – not for  _ his  _ sake, but for Inaho's.

There is no need to deal personally with his past monsters, not when they are far far away in a cold winter tundra.

“.. can I see?” Inaho asks softly, a slight shake in voice. It sounds sad. Hands slipping to Slaine's shoulders, his grip on the towel loosens, and his dark eyes slip to Slaine's shirt. It seems he has realised the reason for Slaine's dark undershirts. “Will you show me?”

Slaine manages the smallest of nods, sucking in a shaky breath.

It is much easier to show Inaho than it is to tell him about it, about what happened.  _ That  _ is one part of his past he does not want to discuss anymore, having spent the better half of a year talking to a therapist about it.

“Just – just don't.. don't touch, please..” Slaine says, and Inaho nods, keeping his hands perfectly still right where they are. Swallowing, he slowly, carefully lifts up his shirts for Inaho to see, and tries not to overreact at the flicker of  _ something _ that immediately lights within Inaho's eyes.

Disgust? At the person responsible?

Disappointment? In people who could not help him sooner, so he could have had a normal childhood?

Resentment? Toward  _ them _ ?

Slaine fall silent as Inaho's dark eyes linger over the scars, feeling his boyfriend's nails dig into his back. It feels.. different, being looked at like  _ this _ ; it is awkward, and he swallows the hard, nervous ball in his throat, trying not to look down at his own chest.

They are ugly, he thinks – his scars are not at all nice, they are not  _ battle  _ scars, they do not remind him constantly that he survived when he so badly wanted to disappear. Before he moved here, they were a constant reminder of his  _ failure  _ to achieve eternal rest.

_ I hate them. _

But still, Inaho does not look away. Slowly, his grip subconsciously tightens on Slaine's shoulders, and Slaine can feel the brunet's nails lightly digging into his soaked shirts.

With a towel and two shirts keeping his skin safe, it does not hurt, and he does not think he could bring himself to mind even if it did; he knows he hugs Inaho rather tightly whenever he gets upset. Remaining quiet as Inaho pulls him into a hug, he feels the other breathe out softly, sort of warm against his neck.

It comes out shaky.

“I.. I don't want you to.. to ever go back to Russia..”

Slaine watches as his vision blurs with hot tears.  _ It's resentment,  _ he realises,  _ Even though he had no idea, living here as a child, even though there was nothing he could've done to help.. _

Inaho's voice is much softer than anything Slaine has ever heard before. It is laced with pure and utter heartbreak, helplessness, and Slaine is reminded once again of how Inaho genuinely cares and worries for him.

No one said anything, in that house.

They either never noticed –  _ how could they  _ **not** _ notice? When it was right in front of them? _ – or pretended not to, and both are equally cruel.

It was lonely.

It  _ hurt _ .

“I'm glad you're here.”

Sucking in a breath when Inaho pulls him even closer, Slaine tries not to move much, not quite used to this reversal.

It feels harder to breathe.

“Can I tell you something?” Inaho asks, and Slaine nods, the slightest of movements. It takes him a moment to get it out – it seems he gives it some thought, perhaps on how to word it properly, so it does not come out wrong. “I.. understand, a small part of you,” he says, and Slaine freezes up in his arms, already anxious from the comment, “I know what it's like, to.. to want to disappear.”

It comes out slowly.

It breaks Slaine's heart.

Inaho should not know what that feels like. No one should, but least of all Inaho. It is one of the most painful things in this world, next to heartbreak and loss, one of the saddest, most lonely feelings – the only people that truly understand a small part of what it is like to have been driven to it for one reason or another, and  _ no one  _ should be driven to want to disappear.

“Can I keep going?”

Slaine nods again, unable to get out a shaky 'yes', with the way his heart is clogging up his throat.

“I know people said you were selfish,” Inaho whispers, and Slaine breathes in sharply when his boyfriend hugs him tighter, practically squeezing him now, “But you aren't. I know how hard you must've tried to hang on when you didn't want to. And I know you aren't weak for wanting to disappear. And I want to thank you for holding on just a little longer so that we could meet.”

Slaine's eyes gloss over with hot tears. It stings, and his vision blurs, though it does not really matter; Inaho is hugging him so tightly, he can barely move his head, and he can only continue to stare at the backyard.

This is what Inaho had been trying to say the first year they had met. It had been odd, at the time, and Slaine still remembers it because of how sudden the blurt had come – Inaho had been unusually insistent, usually pushy about it.

_ 'I understand you'. _

“What did – what did you..”

It does not come out completely.

_ 'What did you do to yourself?' _

“I stabbed myself in the chest with a pair of scissors,” Inaho whispers, “because I thought people would adopt Yuki-nee if she was by herself.”

“Why.. why would you..” There is a bubbling sob residing in Slaine's throat, threatening to spill over. Sniffling, he blinks back pained tears, and it is difficult to breathe, and not because Inaho is hugging him so tightly.

“Breathe, Slaine,” Inaho whispers, and it is soft and gentle and calm, it is without the shake present in Slaine's voice, without the tremble threatening to collapse Slaine's knees. Inaho's hand relaxes against Slaine's back, and his fingers trace clumsy, intricate circles into his shirts, light enough to not press in, careful enough not to agitate the scars that have long lost feeling.

Slaine does.

In.

Out.

In..

Out..

It is shaky, still. The sob in his throat is still there, but it feels less tight, and his heart is a hammering, erratic mess of notes and beats that do not match, that do not go together; it sounds terribly loud in his ears, like a cacophony of jumbled chords. It blocks out the rain, terribly easily. His heart is a mess, but it slows down enough for him to breathe properly.

“Yuki – Yuki would.. would  _ never _ ..”

“I know,” Inaho says, and it is pained.

They are silent.

Slaine does not know what to say.

_ 'I remembered something that I'd rather forget'. _

“Will you let me be selfish, Slaine?”

Slaine nods a third time. It is less stiff than the first two, less forced.

“I love you.”

_ Wh.. what..? _

“I really, really love you.”

“I.. Inaho..” Slaine stammers, and the name comes out shaky and weak, and  _ confused _ , because  _ why are you saying that, why are you telling me this after telling me  _ **that** _? _

Only his parents have ever said those words to him.

“I want you to love me, too,” Inaho continues, and it is serious, it is so,  _ so  _ serious, and he sounds as if he might break if he gets the wrong response, “You don't have to love me right now. Or soon. But I want you to love me in the future, like I love you. I want you to love the part of me that I would rather forget.”

_ I already do. _

The words will not come out.

“I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the first time.”

“It – it's.. It's okay,” Slaine whispers, and it is, it truly is – how does one possibly bring it up, unprompted?

It is difficult to talk about. It will always be difficult to talk about, even with people that understand.

“Do you want to look at the moon together, tonight?” Inaho asks, and his voice is soft, still, soft and still on the verge of cracking, breaking, “It's supposed to be beautiful.”

_ How many times did you try to tell me? _

“Yes,” Slaine whispers, fingers gently resting against Inaho's chest, where the buttons on his shirt are. “Inaho, I..”

_ I love you, too. So, so very much. _

“.. I'm.. glad.. that you're here, with me..”

“I'm glad you're here with me, too, Slaine.”

* * *

 

Silent as he stares out the library window, Slaine rests his cheek against his palm, willing this day to end as fast as possible – each second feels like half an hour, creeping past, achingly slow.

Yesterday was..

.. yesterday did.. did not go as expected.

It is bittersweet.

No one should understand.

No one should know what it is like to try and fail at disappearing, to have to deal with the painful aftermath. It leaves scars, physically and figuratively, and is incredibly difficult to work through, even with medication and help.

No one should have to go through it.

But Inaho did.

And there is nothing in this world that can change that, no matter how badly one may wish.

Slaine frowns as he stares at the window, trying to ease the pain in his heart.

They have each other. And, yesterday, Inaho said he loved him.

A lot. Loves him in spite of the sadness, the difficulty, the trauma.

Said that he wanted Slaine to feel the same way.

_ And I.. too.. _

_.. I can't say it, yet. Why is it so hard to say it? _

Inaho said he did not mind waiting.

_ He's too patient. Do I really.. deserve.. _

“.. Saazbaum..?”

Surprised, Slaine raises his head at the sound of his name, jostled out of his thoughts. “H.. Harklight,” he greets, forcing a  smile and hoping he did not look too upset.

It is still a little odd, hearing people refer to him in this manner. When his parents offered upon adopting him, he wasted no time agreeing to add their name to his, to be accepted wholly into their family.

It is odd, but it is much better than hearing 'Troyard'. This year, at a new school, after getting used to being with his parents and their name, he has made it a point to introduce himself as 'Slaine Saazbaum'.

Hearing  _ that _ name still makes something bitter well up in his throat, makes his heart ache and reminds him that it does not quite fit anymore.  _ Has  _ not fit, for some time now.  _ They  _ only said his name with spite on their lips and disdain on their tongues.

“Did you need something?” Slaine asks, shifting in his seat. Perhaps Harklight intends to ask about the other day, when he was giving Inaho a lesson in the music room. Harklight  _ did  _ seem a little curious, but also far too flustered to ask or say anything at the time.

“Someone's come to see you,” Harklight says, and Slaine feels his heart catch.

It cannot be Inaho. School has not yet let out, and he is not one for skipping.

“She says.. she's claiming to be your.. 'business partner'..?” Harklight says, and it comes out a question, clearly confused. Perhaps 

It takes a moment to click. “Oh!” Slaine gasps as he stands up, gently pressing his hands against the table. It is hot beneath his fingers, in the slowly setting sun, and he tries to ignore the feeling as he looks toward the front of the library.

_ Rayet. _

“Thank you, Harklight. I'll be right back,” he says, wondering what she might be doing here.

Outside of group outings, he rarely sees Rayet on her own. Since moving here, she has only come to visit him at home once, and it was only to give her address so that the Saazbaums could visit her and her father whenever they wanted. Wolf has been around far more often, to talk with Saazbaum and Orlane, about the things Slaine wants to forget. Wolf, too, was affected by  _ that  _ family, though in a different manner.

Bowing his head politely, Slaine excuses himself from the table, and gently pushes his chair back in before quickly walking over toward Rayet, a smile on his lips.

They are not friends. Not truly.

They are 'business partners', as she puts it, and the two of them have known each other for roughly ten years now; they had met at the funeral. The funeral for..

Slaine shoves the thought aside. “Good afternoon, Rayet,” he greets, though he cannot quite see her full expression with that medical mask partially covering her face. As far as he knows, though, she is not actually sick – no one mentioned anything about Rayet missing classes lately, and they would have said anything had she fallen ill.

So she must be skipping, for whatever reason. At least she is out of uniform, so she will not get into much trouble unless someone recognises her.

“I wasn't expecting you to come see me,” he continues, “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”

No reaction. Not a visible one, anyway.

Rayet shifts on her feet, glancing around the library, quiet for just a moment.  _ “Viens avec moi,”  _ she says and suddenly starts to pull Slaine by the arm rather forcefully, presumably trying to lead them to an even quieter, more private place.

_ “E-ehh? C'est quoi? Qu'est-ce qui se passe?”  _ he questions, slipping into French as he stumbles after her. The forced smile on his lips slips as his heart rises to his throat. This is not a  _ good  _ visit, not if she wants to speak to him in French so no one listens in on them, not if she wants to talk to him in private, away from prying eyes.

It is difficult to keep up with her. She has never been very gentle, and she is walking quickly.

The back area of the library is far more empty than the front part. It is darker here, and much quieter, with far less students whispering near the bookshelves. Mostly everyone is ready to leave – they will be free to leave in about forty minutes or so, and they are  _ supposed  _ to be studying. Everyone is far too excited to be studying.

The two of them settle near one of the furthest windows. She releases his arm, lavender eyes flickering over his. There is hesitance within them, and the two of them stare at each other for another quiet, anxious moment before she says continues,  _ “.. il faut qu'on parle.” _

It is hard to breathe. His heart is caught in his throat, and it feels like a hard lump of sharp ice.  _ 'Talk about what?'  _ he wants to ask, though there is only one possible thing they could talk about like this, with all the secrecy.

Something she would skip school for, something she would come to see him immediately for.

Breathing out softly, she crosses her arms against her chest. The next words come out soft, muffled by her mask.  _ “Ça concerne l'affaire.” _

Slaine feels his heart crack.

If possible, he wanted to avoid talking about it. If possible, he wanted to forget and leave it to his parents and Rayet's father to deal with, after they had offered upon seeing how badly it distressed him.

_ “Pourquoi tu..”  _ he starts to ask, tone softer now, slow.

The question trails off as he raises his head and catches Harklight's eyes.

There is a frown on the older student's features. An upset one, one that Slaine recognises as distrust. It looks as if he might want to intervene.

Has he been watching, this entire time?

Forcing a smile, Slaine gently grabs Rayet's wrist. 'Everything is fine', he means to say, though he is sure it does not come out that way.

Harklight cannot understand them; he transferred in from Sweden and only knows Swedish and English. But if he means to send Rayet away because of their current situation, it would be best to hide from his worried eyes.

Pulling Rayet over toward the bookcases, he murmurs,  _ “Allons là bas pour discuter..” _

Swallowing his heart, he prepares for the worst.

 

 

 

Slaine breathes out softly against Inaho's neck, trying his damndest not to melt into an anxious, panicked mess. If he cries, it will be hard to breathe. It is already difficult to breathe. Too difficult. It feels as if his throat has constricted, and he cannot quite get enough air, which threatens to only further accelerate his racing heart and nerves. If he cries, it will be harder to breathe, and if it gets any harder to breathe, he will have a panic attack and make himself sick from stress.

Shutting his eyes tight, he forces himself to breathe slower, despite his body screaming at him to breathe  _ more _ , to try and take in as much as possible.

It works, slightly.

Inaho's hand is gentle as it rubs his back, and it lingers on the small of his back, fingers tracing small, intricate circles into the fabric of his shirt.

Inaho is so kind.

Slaine had come over here as soon as he had been able.

Poor Inaho had been in bed, apparently resting, but did not say a word when Slaine suddenly collapsed beside him and pulled him into a hug,  _ still  _ has not said a word.

_ I don't deserve you,  _ a thought whispers to Slaine, intrusive and unwelcome, but it still manages to worm its way in, making him doubt, further breaking the fragile, weak thing he calls his heart,  _ I don't.. _

“Inko showed me a bathing suit catalogue today,” Inaho finally says, still tracing gentle, feathery circles into Slaine's back.

The comment causes the blond to freeze, completely caught off-guard.

“We looked at it together during lunch. I wasn't sure where to take you tomorrow, but there's a nice shop in the city that stocks the ones from the catalogue.. Inko says they have lots of patterns she'd think you'd like.. And there was a sleeveless diving top I thought would look nice on you..”

_ Huh? _

Slaine lifts his head, confused, and finds Inaho staring at him, affection in those dark eyes of his.

Neither of them move.

Inaho continues, slow, “I thought it'd be better than wearing a normal shirt, since it's waterproof..”

Slaine opens his mouth, about to try and find the words to compliment his boyfriend on his thoughtfulness, his foresight to predict that he will not want to wander the beach shirtless –

“.. and skin tight,” Inaho adds, and Slaine immediately sits up, the praise lost.

Still, he is unable to be stern in his current state, still on the brink of tears, and it is somehow even more difficult now that he wants to laugh. “You're – you're..  _ horrible _ , Inaho!” he cries, though the pain in his heart lets up at Inaho's clumsy flirting, or teasing, or whatever it might be – it is hard to think at the moment, and Slaine cannot imagine what else Inaho may have seen and wanted him to try on.

It is a little less difficult to breathe. There are still sobs caught in his throat, trying to decide to come out as such or come out as laughter.

Swallowing them down, he remains still as Inaho wipes at his eyes and then presses a kiss to the corner of each of them. It feels a bit odd, feeling the tears being pressed against his skin, though Inaho does not seem to mind. When the other pulls away, Slaine breathes out, trying to blink the rest of the tears away. “I'd.. I'd like to go, to the shop with you..” he says, soft and careful, careful not to let those sobs spill from his lips when it has become a little easier to breathe.

“What happened, at university?” Inaho whispers, brushing tufts of near-white hair from Slaine's face. It seems he is trying hard to use only the gentlest of touches, not allowing his fingers to linger for long, like they usually do. He returns his hand to the blond's back once he has tidied the other's hair, and again starts tracing small circles in an attempt to continue comforting him. “Did someone say something to you?”

“No, no one's.. They've all been nice..”

Mostly, anyway. There are only a few people that are daring enough to ask crass questions, when they see the scars on his wrists.

“.. after.. classes ended.. Rayet came to speak with me,” Slaine murmurs. It comes out hesitant and slow, grip tightening on the futon under them, “They've.. decided what to do with my case.”

Inaho says nothing for a moment, though there are already visible signs of distress on his features. Taking Slaine's hands, he carefully unfurls them, and presses light, gentle kisses against the scars on his wrists. “Take your time,” he whispers, soft and careful. The touch is light, and it helps in distracting, helps Slaine feel a little less bitter about  _ that _ , “We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

_ If I don't want to.. _

It would be selfish.

Or irresponsible.

Slaine is not sure of what it might be, but it does not matter much, either way – Inaho will not push and he will not mind no matter what Slaine chooses.

“I just – I don’t.. I don’t understand why..” It comes out in bits and pieces. The words do not quite sit right on his tongue, and they leave his mouth tasting  _ off _ , as if he had just eaten something bad. Slaine breathes out as Inaho continues to smooth his wrists, and manages to catch his boyfriend’s dark eyes, dark eyes full of patient affection, understanding.. “I.. I don’t understand why my case was dropped,” he whispers, and his eyes feel warm again as they start to narrow.

Inaho stiffens.

“My parents.. Saazbaum and Orlane.. they did  _ everything  _ right, and it – it doesn’t matter, because my case.. my case is..”

They had to gather evidence, themselves. The police had been uninterested, and the private doctors  _ he  _ had hired had been uncooperative, not when they had been paid to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of business. Saazbaum and Orlane had managed to find Calina once Slaine had safely moved to Germany with them – she had a few photos of Slaine at the hospital the ambulance had taken him to, a few incriminating photos of bruises and other injuries that could not have been self-inflicted. Slaine had spent hours trying not to panic too much whilst Saazbaum and Orlane took photos of the scars on his back and chest, tried not to flinch at the blinding lights from the cameras.

The lights reminded him of all the time he spent in the hospital, where everything had been white and sterilised and an eyesore.

“I  _ hate  _ him,” Slaine whispers, soft and pained, and Inaho resumes the smoothing of Slaine’s wrists, continues again with the light, gentle, lingering touch. It only helps somewhat, now. There is an ache in his heart that seems like it will take some time to feel better, to recover from the news. “I wish he'd disappear,” he says, and it comes without hesitation.

There is no surprise in Inaho's dark eyes, no worry or upset.

No judgment.

No,  _ 'you don't mean that' _ , or,  _ 'don't say terrible things' _ .

“.. I want.. to never have to think about him, again,” Slaine says, even softer now. It almost feels as if the words do not want to come out, anymore. Like they are stuck like a piano key that refuses to play its proper note. “If – if my case is being dismissed, then I.. I never want to deal with him or them, again. I just.. want..”

“.. to forget?” Inaho asks, and Slaine nods. Pulling a hand away, he gently cups one of Slaine's cheeks, tracing the curve under his eye. “You can forget, if that's what you want to do,” he whispers, serious again, affectionate again, “You can move on however you want to. You don't have to forgive them.”

_ It's incredibly selfish, isn't it? _

Slaine nods again, feeling a few tears slip. They are hot, too hot in the cool room, and he feels Inaho wipe them away with his thumb.

He is tired, now.

It is tiring to cry.

It is tiring to think about stressful things, to think about what they had done to him

It is tiring to deal with  _ them _ , to realise how they are going to get away with hurting him without any consequence.

The proof is all over Slaine's body and in the prescriptions he receives from his doctors.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into Inaho's touch.

It is warm.

It is familiar.

It is a bit damp, with the tears he had shed.

“I.. can take a nap before dinner, can't I?”

Inaho immediately nods, “Of course you can.” Pulling away completely, he helps Slaine lie down, visibly relaxing now that they are done with this topic. “Do you want me to grab your medication?”

“Yes, please.”

“I'll make us dinner,” Inaho whispers, pulling the blanket back, resting the blond's head on the pillow, “I'll wake you up later.” Those dark eyes of his linger. Leaning down, he presses a careful kiss to Slaine's cheek, “Sleep well, Slaine.”

There is an unsaid  _ 'I love you' _ .

Shutting his eyes, Slaine breathes out.

The proof will never go away. That is an unchangeable fact.

Perhaps one day he will be healthy enough to stop using medication, perhaps he will be able to function without it, without the painful,  bad thoughts lingering in his head, making his heart hurt and ache.

Perhaps one day, he will finally forget.

_ 'No matter how much you care for someone, some illnesses will never go away'. _

And that is okay.

_ Because, I.. _

“I love you, too,” Slaine whispers, and he hears Inaho's breath catch, “I.. I really, really love you, too, Inaho.. Thank you..”

A few more tears slip. They dampen the pillow beneath his head, and he feels Inaho squeeze his hand, and it is reassuring, and it is familiar, and it is  _ safe _ .

It is one of the best feelings in this world.

_ Kaizuka Inaho  _ makes him feel the best, in this world.

“Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

 

 

“.. aine..”

It filters in slowly. Quietly.

“.. laine..?”

Groggy, Slaine groans softly as he slowly opens his eyes, finding a slightly blurry Inaho hovering above him, sitting at the edge of the bed and leaning over him. The sight has his heart caught in a stutter for a moment, but he finds himself easily melting into a small smile, heart much more at ease than it had been earlier. “Inaho..” he murmurs, affectionate. There is a medicinal taste on his tongue, and it tastes of heavy, drugged sleep. Sitting up, he holds himself up with an elbow, looking the other over. “You know.. you look like a housewife, dressed like that..” he points out with a soft yawn, gaze lingering over Inaho's apron. It is a dark shade of blue, and seems to have a flowery pattern on it – it is difficult to see, the flowers seem to be made with black threading. Probably not the best design choice.

The comment earns him a warm smile.

It helps in forgetting the sad reason he came here.

“A housewife..” Inaho repeats after him, tone low and soft, “I wouldn't mind that..” It comes out thoughtful, and he pauses for a moment, those gears practically visibly turning in his head. “You'd provide for me, of course,” he says, and Slaine feels his heart pick up, knowing where this is going, “since you'd be successful. I could stay home, without having to work.. and I'd be able to attend all your concerts.. and when we come home, I'd ask you to play your violin until you can't anymore.”

Slaine feels his face slowly flush red.

Inaho has thought a lot, about this.

If Inaho had his way, Slaine is sure his poor fingers would have fallen off, by now, from how often Inaho wants to hear him play.

“And when your hands get tired from playing the violin, you can play m–..”

“That – that's enough,” Slaine quickly says, reaching upward to press his hands to Inaho's mouth, stopping him from finishing that sentence. He loses his balance as he does and falls back against the pillow, leaving Inaho to stare down at him, his weight causing a dip in the bed. All the grogginess has left him now; thanks to Inaho's terrible flirting, he is fully awake. “You're.. getting bolder,” he murmurs, not removing his hands from Inaho's mouth, not allowing him to respond, just yet. “You've always spoken your mind, but because we're dating now, you..” Breathing in, he stares upward at his boyfriend for a moment, knowing Inaho is being perfectly serious, is not at all joking. “You’d spend everyday with me? From sunrise to sunset?”

Inaho nods, a bare, tiny movement –

_ I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too. _

– before pressing a kiss to Slaine’s palm and removing the blond’s hand from his lips, lacing their fingers together, instead. “If you’ll have me,” he says, and Slaine swallows down the immediate  _ ‘why wouldn’t I have you?’  _ that springs to his lips.

Inaho is terribly considerate, always phrasing things like that –

“You can be selfish, too.”

It comes out soft.

It comes out a blurt.

Inaho continues staring at the other for a moment more before smiling, bringing Slaine’s hand to his cheek. “I want to spend every second of everyday with you,” he says, soft and serious,  _ genuine _ , “I want the same thing as you.”

‘Want’ is such a selfish word.

It is not like ‘would’.

‘Want’ is a wish. A declaration, a firm statement –

_ It’s a promise. _

_ It’s alright to be selfish, sometimes. _

“When you ask me to marry you..” Inaho whispers.

Not ‘if’.

“.. I’ll say yes.”

_ He’s promising.. _

Slaine feels Inaho squeeze his hand again, just like before he had gone to sleep – Inaho’s lips are not the softest against his hand, they are chapped again, but they are warm and familiar and he feels his heart slowly, but surely, return to its normal, slow pace, its steady beat.

No one else could possibly compete with how Inaho makes him feel.

Safe.

Loved.

_ The smallest, slightest, tiniest bit understood. _

As a child, trapped in that mansion, he did not think he would have a future.

In that mansion, he had been a quiet, lingering note to a song he had hoped and prayed day after day would  _ end _ , so he could finally disappear.

It had been terribly lonely.

And now..

_ Now, I’m.. I'm finally living. _

“Why – why am I the one asking you to marry me?” Slaine questions as he slowly sits up, resting a hand on Inaho’s thigh as a means of helping himself adjust properly. Like this, it is much easier to meet Inaho’s dark eyes – they are playful, and that smile on his lips widens as the two of them stare at each other.

“Because you’re the one who kissed me, first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and with this, this is finally complete! :) for my dearest seru i have worked endlessly to deliver her only the best content!! all because we listened to a song and got super sad over it ^^;; nevertheless, i hope seru and everyone else reading this work enjoyed it!!
> 
> there will be a fluffy bonus chapter to make up for. this being the way it is. but the work is complete as is and i'm super happy with it and i hope you all are too ;;

**Author's Note:**

> for my dear friend, seru ❤ i lov you and i hope we can be friends for a long time!!! and also i'm sorry
> 
> insp; our bonding over [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2O5euYPzcrY)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [when nao hears slaine play music for him](https://twitter.com/RuruSeru/status/1030448537467674624)
> 
>  
> 
> [absolutely hecking beautiful art that my dear seru drew](https://twitter.com/ruru_seruru/status/1031023417258991617)


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